


Eavesdropping

by GreyFalcon



Category: Herobrine - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Bloodshed, Comfort in the later chapters, Gen, Hurt in the first chapters, suggested violence and violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyFalcon/pseuds/GreyFalcon
Summary: Notch and Herobrine. Brothers. The two creators who worked together to form the Minecraft™ realms. What could drive them from being caring siblings to implacable enemies? What would it take to bring them back together? Is reconciliation even possible?This tale examines the effect of greed on relationships. The catalyst which tore the brothers apart was someone listening in on other peoples’ conversations, and taking advantage of the information acquired.
Comments: 40
Kudos: 40





	1. Overheard

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Minecraft™ is a video game. This story occurs in a Minecraft™ world with the Aether mod. None of these worlds belong to me. Minecraft™ belongs to Mojang and Microsoft. The characters Herobrine belongs to Mojang. Notch belongs to himself. Greyfalcon  
> NOTE: This story is for NEW ADULTS (age 20+)  
> NOTE: Copyright 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Herobrine was exiled.

Notch walked along the off-white pathways in the Aether at a pedantic pace, head tilted down, hands clasped behind his back as he listened to Herobrine’s complaints. The peach-and-gold dawn of the Aether glinted off his white silk tunic, drawing flashes of color from the rubies and sapphires trimming the garment.

Herobrine walked at his side, frowning deeply. He kept up with his brother’s long stride by leaping ahead every now and then, his long leather vest flaring out with every hop. The early morning mist pearled on his forest green tunic.

“I don’t see why we need any more deities, fifty is plenty,” he objected. “A dozen of them stand around like so many mannequins as it is! Why do we need more gods to clutter up the temple?”

Notch side-eyed his brother. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t see a need for them,” he countered, turning on his heel to confront Herobrine directly. “There are many places in the Overworld requiring monitoring. I’ve received prayers for intercession for the weather, for the disappearance of miners in the Deep Mines of Kathfeld, for healing the plague ravaging the country of Rothalin. The gods down in the Overworld aren’t doing enough. They complain that they’re overwhelmed with demands; several are exhausted.”

Herobrine scowled in reply. “Do you know how many gods are in the Overworld right now? TWO. The rest—” he stabbed a finger at the temple looming over them— “are in there, LOUNGING.”

Notch raised an eyebrow. “You mean you can’t order them down to the Overworld?”

“I’ve tried!” Herobrine snarled. “They ignore me, or they claim that they’re busy. Keannol flat-out refused. Repeatedly. If he does it one more time, I might rip that stupid blond head from his shoulders!”

“You know better,” Notch chided His brother. “You’re a creator, they’re small gods—not much more than glorified servants. Be firm with them, they’ll learn to obey if they know you mean what you say.” Notch turned back to the walkway, waving at two very attractive goddesses hurrying their way. “And make fifty more gods, to reduce the other’s workload.”

“But Notch, all they need do is use what I’ve already given them. Each has four to six powers as is. If I give them anything more, they’ll be stronger than I am. I’m running out of abilities to hand out. It’s your turn to donate to the cause.”

“I don’t think so,” Notch smirked.

“Why the void not?” Herobrine’s eyes narrowed in anger.

Notch winked. “Because I’m the older brother. And these lovely ladies requested My attendance for a little celebration. Now, if you’ll excuse Me…”

Herobrine glared at his brother’s retreating back. “Pompous… arrogant… I’m tired of gifting those pissants with my powers, especially when they don’t listen to me!” He stomped off, clenching his fists, muttering curses.

***

Once the two creators left, and the red-fluted cardinal began its morning song, a deity garbed in black and gray leather rose from behind some strategically piled rocks. Trickin slinked back to the main temple, joining his small clique of similar-minded gods. They made room in their circle, knocking elbows as he arrived.

Trickin signaled to the back of the temple. “Come on, I’ve got news,” he whispered excitedly.

The coterie split apart, only reforming as a group in a small meeting room where Trickin waited. The others gathered close.

“Notch just told L’il Bro to make with the powers again,” Trickin announced. “We must thank Serena and her boneless dances for keeping Notch so rivetted on her abundant—talents.”

The other gods produced small smiles, the greed shining from their eyes. Trickin spread his arms. “What’s even better, L’il Bro revealed that he’s given away so many powers it’s weakened him! So, if a bunch of us ganged up, we could take the powers he’s been hoarding for himself!” Trickin licked his lips at that prospect. “That much more power is sure to guarantee our acceptance as real gods! No more minor status. No more playing messenger-boy for Notch or his little prick of a brother.” Trickin’s smile exposed especially-sharp teeth; he leaned forward, gesturing to the rest to close ranks. “Here’s my idea…” 

***

Herobrine meant to hold a meeting with all the small gods in the temple; Notch’s weekly celebration precluded that idea. Instead, he summoned them into a secondary amphitheater at the far side of the island. He paced along the center stage while waiting for the minor gods to collect.

_ I’m not giving them one more power,  _ he decided. _They’ve already got more than enough; it’s time they put those gifts to good use! I’ve had it with their attitude; if they can’t buckle down and do the necessary tasks to keep the Overworld and the Aether functioning, then I’m more than willing to take those powers back and give them to someone who will perform as needed._

“You want firm, Notch? I’ll be firm, all right,” he grumbled.

The small gods slowly gathered, sitting on the numerous granite benches. They muttered among themselves, grouping in little clumps that excluded any other gods. The creator scowled even more at that behavior. _Elite pricks, the lot of them! Too good to mingle with their peers, too special to work. Next time, Notch, I pick the ones to become gods; Your criteria leaves much to be desired._

When no further gods appeared, Herobrine did a final head count. “Where’s Keannol?” he demanded. “Did anyone tell him of this meeting?”

“He heard,” Trickin spoke out. “He’s busy.”

“Oh really?” Herobrine reached out into the air, grabbing Keannol by his long blond hair and yanking him to the center stage. The god of music yowled as he appeared, grabbing Herobrine’s wrist to keep the creator from applying any more force on his scalp.

Herobrine threw him across the stage, then stalked after. “So. Keannol. Why didn’t you come when I commanded?”

Keannol stood up, rubbing at his head. “What the fire was that for! And I was busy.”

“Oh really?” Herobrine waved, and an image of the god flirting with Bethany, the sultry goddess of wine, steamed from Keannol into the open air. “Too busy trying to get laid to pay attention to me?”

“Bethany’s hard to corner,” the blond god whined. “I had to move while I had the chance.”

“I summoned you!” Herobrine snarled.

“I already told you, I was busy!” Keannol snapped in reply.

The younger creator reached out a second time. He brutally ripped the deity powers from Keannol, clenching them in his fist and reabsorbing them. “If you won’t listen and obey my orders, then I see no reason to support your disobedient carcass!”

The ex-god collapsed, clutching at his chest as he screamed unceasingly. Herobrine waved his other hand; the mortal vanished into the air. “He’s back on the Overworld, now he can spend the rest of his miserable life remembering what he threw away.”

Herobrine turned to face the other gods, who’d swarmed together in a panicked mass and now stared fearfully at the young creator. “I gave you endless chances to live up to the honor you were granted, and you squandered them. No more. Your powers came from me, and I will take them back if you don’t fulfill your duties. Now get down to the Overworld and start helping the mortals—or you’ll be next!”

The small gods stampeded out of the amphitheater, some actually shrieking in terror. Herobrine teleported to the side of a clear blue pool in the back of the temple. He waved his hand over the still waters, bringing up the image of each god. From there, he tracked all the gods shifting themselves to the Overworld, and working as he demanded. 

Hours passed, and the mortals began sending thanks skyward. Herobrine sighed as the tension left his shoulders. “Finally!” he snorted. _I guess Notch was right, I should have been firm with them. He’ll be happy to see and feel the change on the Overworld._

A hand grabbed his shoulder, and a sudden agony sliced through Herobrine’s back. Gasping, he dropped to his knees, reaching behind him to uncover the source of his pain. He encountered a knife handle; blood welled from around the hilt. _I’ve been stabbed?_

Someone still gripped the knife handle.

Herobrine whined as the unknown someone yanked the blade out. A scream ripped from his throat as the knife slid between his ribs a second time. The creator wavered on his knees, trying to get a hold of the knife, to escape the torment.

Several minor gods raced toward him, each holding a weapon of their own. Herobrine read the murder in their eyes. He clutched his assailant’s wrist and threw him bodily into the vision pool. His fingers groped about until he encountered the knife handle; he shrieked as he yanked it free. The injuries ceased bleeding immediately; his healing kicked in, closing the gashes in his flesh before he drew another breath.

Herobrine flipped his grip on the knife and parried the first god’s sword stroke. “Folthin, god of armorers,” he named his enemy, using his free hand to strike the side of the armorer’s head, snapping his neck.

Herobrine raised his weaponless arm high, catching the length of the whip Calumen tried to employ. He yanked, and the acrobatic horse-god flew face-first into Herobrine’s knife. The blade sank to the hilt between scapula and collarbone, before the creator yanked it free through Calumen’s shoulder. The small god collapsed to the ground, bleeding out.

Herobrine spun sharply on his heel, catching the cleaver aimed at his back on the knife handle. “Jontyr, god of butchers,” Herobrine snarled. He snapped his free hand forward, breaking the small god’s neck.

Suddenly his balance deserted him; Herobrine staggered, barely managing to stay upright. Glancing desperately around, he caught Bethany standing in a grove of dogwood, her arms out as she threw her powers against him.

He rolled to the side and lurched to his feet, only to provide an easy target for five small gods and their weapons. They knocked him face-down into the vision pool and tried to hack him to pieces. Herobrine got his arms beneath him and rose from the water. His eyes glowed a deadly red.

“You dare!” he bellowed, throwing out a wave of destructive power that annihilated over half of the island. The closest assailants didn’t get a chance to scream before they were immolated. Herobrine drew their powers back into himself; the injuries vanished as his rage exploded.

“Traitors!” he roared, spotting a handful of survivors racing away from the ruins of the temple, fleeing toward his older brother. “I’ll kill you all!”

Herobrine bounded out of the crater where the temple once stood. At the crest of the bowl he reached out into the air, and a glistening white scythe materialized in his grasp. He swung it in a wide arc before him, and all the minor gods within his view fell dead, their heads removed from their bodies. Eyes still red with fury, he reached out and retrieved his powers before they could dissipate.

Notch charged his way, bearing his famed golden hammer in one hand.

Herobrine shook Bethany’s remaining influence off, then turned back to face his brother. “There’s nothing left to worry about, I’ve taken out the traitors—”

Being hit in the head by Notch’s hammer caught him completely off-guard; the younger creator slammed into the far side of the basin, leaving a slick of blood behind.

Stunned, Herobrine picked himself slowly off the floor of the hole, shaking his head to clear his mind. Notch’s hammer slammed into his ribs and sent him flying into another wall.

Herobrine picked himself up, shaking off the impact. “Notch, what—”

The greater creator grabbed Herobrine and slammed him into another wall, followed up by another hammer strike to his head.

Herobrine staggered to his feet and summoned his own weapon. He flew at Notch, his weapon ready to strike back. “What do you think you’re doing!” he shouted.

He intercepted the hammer with his scythe, trying to yank it from Notch’s hand. Instead, he wound up sailing into yet another wall before hitting the ground. Herobrine rolled along the crater’s bottom, managing to shakily stand in time to avoid another blow from Notch’s weapon. But his vision wavered, and his legs could barely hold him upright. He didn’t see the blow that finally put him down.

***

A bucket of water pouring over his head roused Herobrine from the deep well he’d inhabited. He choked and sputtered, trying to keep from vomiting. Rolling to his front, he struggled to his hands and knees. His thoughts fluttered about in every direction. _My head is killing me! Where am I? He hit me, he slapped me around with his hammer. But, why?_

Someone yanked him upright; his unsteady vision grayed out for several moments. When he could raise his head again, he found himself in Notch’s hands—and his brother was clearly enraged.

“You selfish bastard!” Notch roared, shaking him so his consciousness was transient. “You had no reason to kill them! None whatsoever!”

Herobrine found himself falling again; he tried to cover his head. Time splintered; between one blink and the next, he found himself in Notch’s clutches again. His brother shoved him against another wall, this time holding him upright.

Herobrine barely comprehended this move before his brother’s hand pierced his chest. He shrieked as Notch ripped away his divinity; the screams echoed through all the realms.

Herobrine vaguely felt himself hit the floor yet again. In the distance he could hear Notch’s angry voice. “I deny you!” Notch shouted. “You’re no brother to me! You’re Forsaken!”

As the power burned through him, Herobrine screamed. Eventually his voice gave out. He barely felt Notch fling him through a layer of strange energy; he hit the ground, and darkness swallowed everything.


	2. In the Nether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herobrine's view of an average day in the Nether

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and bloodshed occur in this chapter.

Herobrine hobbled along the edge of a ravine in the Nether, clutching the bleeding injury in his side. He gasped in the hot, sulfurous air, fighting the dizziness threatening to send him plunging into the depths on his immediate right.

Noises at his back alerted him to the approach of pursuit. Heavy bones clattered across the pumice as the wither skeletons chased him. From the bony footsteps, he determined that the posse contained at least a dozen of the undead monstrosities, and swore. _I can’t face them without a weapon. I need to limit how many can attack at a time. A grotto, a cave, something to keep their numbers concentrated in one direction! If they hit me once more with those cursed swords, I won’t be getting back up._

He cupped shaking hands about his brilliant white eyes, hoping to limit how far the ash-laden air dispersed the light. _They look for the eye shine._ _If you can keep the glow from fanning out, you’ve got a good chance of losing them. Of getting away. Of having time to find some place to lie low and heal. Just limit the eye shine. Curse you, Notch, for making sure these things flock to bright white light; it makes it nearly impossible to escape for any length of time._

The chasm veered to the left as it curled along the bottom of an imposing mountain range. Herobrine caught only a sweeping glance of its blood-red heights before he climbed above the ragged scree at the base. In no time the wither skeleton sounds faded away in the distance. Herobrine huffed, struggling further into the mountainous terrain; the wound opened further, and blood dribbled down his leg. He left bloody handprints all along the back trail.

A small opening in the mountainside drew his attention. Herobrine scaled a cliff, pushing himself into a tiny opening he’d spotted. The cavern floor existed for only a handful of steps before dropping off into yet another gully that seemed to empty itself into the void below the world. A dark corner provided some cover from either side, and he sank to the ground in that pocket.

Herobrine wrapped both arms about his midsection, slowing the blood flow from the slice in his side. Listening to the lava falling in wet splops, the hot wind whistling among the pockmarked rocks, he allowed fatigue to roll over him. _Might be safe to rest here … for a few … moments …_

***

Herobrine jerked awake suddenly, eyes wide in alarm. “Damnit!” he snarled, squinting in the darkness, raising a hand to cover his face. _Something found me. I don’t recall what noise roused me. I need to get moving, to be somewhere else before I’m cornered again._

Pushing his back against the cavern wall, he forced himself upright. Peeking between his fingers, he turned in the deep gulch’s direction. The other hand clutched at his still-aching side. _This way ought to be usable, it’s not on my back trail. Hopefully it’s a safe exit from this place._

Pausing at the opening into the rift, Herobrine spotted a potential path into the depths to the right, hidden among a jumble of boulders. Simultaneously, a ghast’s shriek wailed about him as it launched an explosive charge. Instinct slammed into his neurons; he leaped for the track.

The detonation at his heels nearly sent him over the edge, into the canyon’s depths. He bounced off one boulder-sized chunk of pumice, and managed to snag a handhold on another. Clawing to the top of the pile, he glared ineffectually at the gigantic bloated head floating far out of reach.

_I don’t stand a chance …_

As the beast spat another charge, he leaped up and out towards the monster, wondering if it was possible to survive the blast. The explosive hit the far wall, and its detonation threw him directly at the creature. Herobrine skidded across its relatively flat skull, and off the head—onto a rock-strewn plain on the other side of the gorge. Spinning along the ragged ground provided a new collection of cuts and scrapes. He rolled to his feet without slowing, and lurched away from the ravine, into the shadows of the deeper mountains. His other arm remained tightly clutched against his damaged side.

He raced around several outcrops before the ghast’s next blast pulverized one of the upstanding boulders. No longer visible to the monster, Herobrine stopped and leaned against a cliffside, panting hard.

_I finally lost that brute! Even though it shredded my shirt._

He pulled a burned piece of shirt fabric from beneath his belt and pressed it against the injury. When the bleeding lessoned, he examined the wound. _It looks to be mostly healed. Another few hours, and it’ll be another scar among my already impressive collection._

_This can only go on for so long. Notch ripped away my immortality, so right now I’m running on nervous energy, and the dregs of the strength I once claimed. Without food or water, it will only last for so long—then I’m dead._

_Which is exactly what Notch wanted._

“Notch, you monster!” Herobrine snarled at the open sky.

He jerked with surprise when a chorus of angry grunts answered his curse. Scanning the area revealed a score of pigmen gathered at the other end of the path. They growled and charged as soon as the light from his eyes aimed their way.

Trapped between the ghast and the pigmen, Herobrine desperately searched the immediate terrain. A small ledge halfway down the trail presented a hopeful escape route, one high enough to get him beyond the pigmen’s weapon range. The problem lay in actually getting to the ledge; it lay just beyond his reach. He noted a few handholds, possibly enough to get him to that small degree of safety.

Mind made up, Herobrine raced towards the cliff face. A flat slab of rock provided the launch point; as soon as his feet hit the stone, he flung himself skyward. He stretched desperately for that first handhold—and missed.

His shocked cry followed him back to the ground. He collided with several pigmen; they fell in a flailing pile of arms and legs. One pigman got an elbow to the face; another squealed as a heel rammed into the beast’s knee. Two golden swords found their way into his hands; he scrambled upright, laying about with the blades. The pigmen lying on the trail snatched at his legs, seeking to wrench him down.

They still clutched at him when the still-mobile pigmen arrived like a porcine cavalry. Herobrine frantically wielded both weapons, trying to spin in place, to knock them back and win a small chance to break away. He did his best to dodge most of their attacks, and keep from being surrounded. Each opponent he targeted received a blow hard enough to put them down permanently.

Then the weapon in his right hand broke. He swept that arm along the ground, hand out to grab any nearby weapon, staggering forward with a cry of pain as a sword carved a bloody trail along his hipbone. Balance wavering dangerously, he lurched forward to keep from falling. Miraculously, his fingers closed on another sword hilt.

Swiftly turning, Herobrine managed to back up against a pile of boulders. He began swinging the blades in an alternating pattern, crisscrossing to take down anything that stood before him. The pigmen charged from his front; he sliced their head from their necks, or hacked them open from collarbone to hip.

Herobrine kept up the exhausting rhythm until no more enemies stood. Swaying, he scanned their bloody corpses, waiting for one to stand up, or another to appear on the horizon. When that didn’t occur, his legs dropped him to the ground. The few remaining bits of shirt helped clean his wounds, and hold the edges together until the bleeding stopped.

Herobrine swallowed any cries of pain throughout these efforts; muffled groans escaped regardless. As the damage healed, and the pain eased, Herobrine leaned back against the rough stone. His head slowly turned from side to side, eyes barely open, seeking another small niche to rest in.

_Can’t stay out in the open, they’ll see my eye shine. I need to rest up somewhere …_

A small crevasse at the base of the rock caught his eye; Herobrine belly-crawled into the pitch-black gap, dragging the two swords with him. The air felt dead in that tiny space, and the pumice made lying still difficult, but fatigue overcame both those problems. His arm formed a quasi-comfortable pillow. A painful whimper escaped, transforming into a moan of loneliness. As his breathing slowed, and his eyes drooped closed, Herobrine growled, “Notch, you monster!”


	3. Aether Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notch and the next generation of minor gods relax in the Aether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off-screen violence in this chapter.

“Tag, you’re it!” Parvi exclaimed before turning to race across the green Aetherian fields. Her sari, orange and gold, did nothing to slow her down; she seemed to fly across the ground towards the stand of red-flowered dogwood trees assigned as ‘home base’.

Behind her the warrior god Tchymer pursued, intent on returning the favor. His hand fell just short of Parvi’s shoulder as she disappeared among the copse of trees.

“By Notch, Parvi, how can you be so fast!” he exclaimed.

The other participants giggled and snickered at his expression—until he turned their way. Then they scattered like pheasants, laughing as their feet slapped the ground.

Hovering scant inches above the soil, Notch smiled benevolently at the young gods. _Such exuberance warms My heart._ He laughed as Tchymer vaulted across a small stream, snagging Aelum’s green shirt and spinning the god of grain around.

“Tag!” Tychmer shouted in victory before haring off in a different direction.

“No fair!” Aelum yelped, looking around for another to pursue. “I don’t stand a chance against you, speed fiend!”

_I don’t stand a chance … I don’t stand a chance …_

The sky remained brilliantly cloudless, but the temperature rose until sweat beaded everyone’s foreheads. A small wind picked up the words and carried them about the glade. The gods forgot about their game, clumping together uncertainly. Other noises joined the words held in the air: harsh panting, squeals as a violent thwack resounded, growls rising from a score of inhuman throats, moans from unseen injured creatures.

“Someone’s fighting,” Tychmer announced, trotting towards Notch. “And it seems they’re badly outnumbered. But who could it be, and where?”

“Notch what’s going on?” the other gods bunched about the creator, listening with trepidation. Another weighty thump echoed across the dale; this time, a man cried out in pain.

Recognizing the voice, Notch paled, whispering, “Herobrine.” _After all this time, he’s still alive. How’s this possible?_

His announcement shivered through the gods; they huddled about the creator, their sweat turned sour with fear.

“That’s the White-Eyed Demon?”

“Isn’t he trapped in the Nether?”

“If he’s in the Nether, how can we hear him?”

An extended series of thuds and squeals occurred; then only Herobrine’s heavy breathing hung in the air. He groaned, then gasped, before panting some more.

Tychmer tilted his head, analyzing the echoes still floating on the breeze. “Well, whatever monsters tried to slaughter him lost. Now he must be trying to treat his wounds.”

Parvi neared Tychmer. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“Battle is my specialty,” Tychmer reminded her. “I’m intimately familiar with these sounds.”

Notch pushed through the crowd, stopping a short distance away. _I placed a barrier about the Nether, an enchantment strong enough to keep any noises from escaping! So how is he getting through?!_

The creator turned back to the others. “There must be a link somehow connecting the two realms. Check your clothes, your jewelry. Check the area. Find that Nether-spawned item!”

For several moments everyone patted themselves down, examining what they wore. All the while they heard Herobrine’s pain-filled grunts as he tended to his injuries.

Finally, Parvi approached Notch, holding out a set of white windchimes like an injured dove. “I think this is the problem? Maybe? I spotted a dozen or so, scattered among the trees …”

Notch took the chimes from her, examining the pure white tubes, noting the spirals carved into each. Opening Himself to the thing’s attributes, He picked up the object’s affinity with the Nether’s hot sulfurous pumice. “So it appears,” He affirmed. “This is quartz from the Nether. I must surmise some grateful mortal gifted them to the temple, and the attendants placed them about for decorations.”

He summoned a servant, holding the windchimes in clear view. “These are scattered about the palace, including the gardens. Find them all, and destroy them.”

As the retainer left, Herobrine whimpered in pain. The sound morphed into a moan of loneliness. Notch ignored his brother’s wordless protests, opting to teleport back to His bedroom. He stood on the balcony, ignoring the gold-and-bronze sunset lighting the Aetherian skies, caught up in ages-old memories. The creator beat those recollections down viciously.

_He’s evil, a soulless abomination who callously killed an entire generation of minor gods one day for no reason whatsoever! Being exiled to the Nether is a well-deserved punishment!_ Notch sagged. _But, surviving for any length of time in the realm of death is beyond my ken. Now I’m haunted with these—reminders—that I put him down._

“Shut up, Herobrine,” he whispered hoarsely. “Just shut up. Stay dead. Nobody wants you here anymore, not after what you did.”

The Nether’s lone inhabitant growled, “Notch, you monster!”


	4. From Hunted to Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herobrine decides he's going to survive, though it's going to take some very unpleasant adjustments.

A large black edifice loomed in the distance, hunched next to a lava ocean. Herobrine limped slowly along the edge of the same sea, keeping track of the building. For whatever reason, fewer creatures hung around the shores; mostly ghasts and the occasional lone pigman. Herobrine kept his eyes on the coastline, systematically scanning the area. 

He dragged a golden sword, the weapon confiscated from one of his many pigmen victims. Earlier it balanced on his shoulder; the location of the armament changed as time progressed. Walking remained an excruciating exercise, each step aggravating the still-healing hip wound. Hunger and thirst settled heavily in his guts, contorting his stomach into painful knots, sucking the strength from his limbs, and slowing his reactions. A distant darkness encroached on his vision that refused to be wiped away.

Herobrine realized that his incessant hunger had morphed into starvation. After so long in this hellish realm, the remnants of his immortality finally died its own little death, leaving him to follow in its wake.

Which he refused to do.

After mulling over his dilemma for some time, a solution of sorts came to mind. He still held enough strength to slaughter a lone pigman or two. And once the creature died—well, the monsters filling the Nether were the only available candidates for food.

The plan of action determined, he attempted to locate and lure a victim within reach. Herobrine scanned the terrain repeatedly, hoping to attract one of the porcine beasts via his eye shine. The land remained stubbornly empty, filled only with the moaning wind, splatters from lava bubbles bursting into the air, and the cries of the roaming ghasts.

With a near-soundless growl, Herobrine turned inland, clambering up one of the small mountains squatting near the shore. _I’ll meet more groups of pigmen, but it’s that or find none at all._ Once at the pinnacle he traversed a long narrow ridge of red pumice, seeking a gentler way down. Then a ghast shrieked, attacking from the rear.

Herobrine leaped to the side, cowering behind several sharp-edged boulders as the place he’d earlier been standing blew up, throwing blood-red rocks, pebbles, and dust in all directions.

Clutching the golden sword in both hands, Herobrine rose from the position of relative safety to face the monstrous white floating head. “Fine,” he snapped, his cracked voice barely audible in the sulfurous air. “I wanted pigmen. But you’ll do.”

The creature screamed as it spat another charge his way. Herobrine swung the sword using both quaking hands, smacking it with the flat of the blade, sending it back into the ghast’s face.

The detonation knocked the monster out of the sky and onto the stony outcrops some distance below. Herobrine staggered uncertainly down the ridge as quickly as his shaking limbs permitted. Finally, he stood before the huge white corpse. Pulling himself up on the face by its tentacles, his hold on the sword shifted to a knife’s grip.

“You’d better be edible in some fashion,” he rasped.

The creature’s eyes began dripping a white fluid. _Huh, liquid ghast tears. When they’re solid, they’re used in regeneration potions. I wonder what they do in liquid form?_ Herobrine smeared a hand in the tears and licked it clean. Almost instantly, the headache vanished, and his many injuries ceased aching. Even the thirst plaguing him eased.

“Whoa.” Eagerly the ex-deity clambered atop the body and sucked up every white tear within sight. Afterward he sat still, amazed at the new vigor pervading his system.

_ From now on, ghast is a regular on my diet. _

Then his attention turned to the rest of the cadaver. The ghast’s skin turned out to be exceedingly tough; it required repeated hacking and stabbing at the same spot before finally yielding. Immediately beneath that cut lay a thick layer of wet tissue, appearing as a gooey fat. Curious, Herobrine hacked a chunk free and sniffed it. _Okay, it’s not water, but it’s not a disgusting odor. It might be potable, let’s find out._ He warily bit a chunk off and chewed. _So much liquid!_ he exulted. _Not water, it doesn’t taste a thing like water. But it’s the only real liquid I’ve found. Kinda rubbery… perhaps it’s blubber? Doesn’t matter, it’s now the official Nether version of water._

He hacked the first layer of hide free of the corpse, chewing on blubber the entire time. Once the leather lay on the ground, Herobrine proceeded to slice the fat from the cadaver and throw it onto the hide. Seeing that the tentacles appeared packed with the juicy tissue, they joined his collection. The golden sword crowned the pile of booty.

By the time he finished with his harvest, exhaustion smothered him. He vaguely noticed the remnants of the ghast’s body dissolving into a hissing white goo. _Must be from acid in the body; I’m lucky it didn’t saturate the blubber layer while I carved the beast up. It’s time to leave this area, anyway, something’s sure to be attracted to the smell._

The leather turned out to be too heavy to carry; Herobrine dragged it in his wake, maneuvering off the mountain and close to the shoreline. Lugging the white burden among the cracks and fissures of the Nether landscape drained what little strength the blubber had restored. Eventually a crevasse large enough to contain his supplies crept into view. He struggled with the leather and its load, finally squeezing it completely inside the small cave. Lying on a bit of exposed ghast hide, he found it incredibly easy to close his eyes.

\-----

NOTE: Ghasts use the hydrochloric acid they produce naturally in their guts to dissolve the blubber just beneath their skin in a specialized organ. The chemical reaction produces oxygen and hydrogen. The oxygen is used in their own breathing; the hydrogen released keeps them afloat, and permits them to drift on the air currents of the nether.


	5. Hiding The Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herobrine tries to work around the obstacles Notch lay on him in the Nether; he is nothing if not ingenious.

Herobrine sat in a tiny cave, staring tiredly at the far wall, resting for a bit. The slump cave scarcely held him and his goods; but it lay at the bottom of a great ravine. Reaching the small hole required skirting the edge of a lava lake, finding a tiny opening concealed by a rockslide, and picking the correct path from among the number of dangerous caverns.

Herobrine held a large supply of goods there. Using the sharp edge of a golden sword, he slowly sliced a thin sheet of ghast hide off a larger portion. _I need to figure out how to hide my eye shine. Notch’s monsters are far too numerous to keep fighting as I’ve been doing, especially since they’ve taken to ganging up on me. Having to battle skeletons plus zombie pigmen plus ghasts is insane, I can’t hope to keep winning. I need to stop them from concentrating around me; I need to limit the light from my eyes._

He raised the thin strip of ghast hide and carefully tied it around his head, covering his eyes. A smear of red dust marked the spots to make eye slots in the leather. After making the holes and re-covering his eyes, he stood and carefully walked about.

It didn’t work; Herobrine managed three steps, then tripped over one of the rocks in the cave. Whipping the eye cover off, he snatched up the golden sword and widened the eye slits.

He made it out of the cave on his second trial run, but fell into an unseen pothole on the path.

Removing the headband again, Herobrine returned to the cave. He began rummaging through his supplies, hoping for some inspiration. _I need some way to get the lay of the land without using my eyes. Hearing will only work for living things, so maybe feeling can cover the terrain…?_

_I’ve got to figure out how to feel where I’m walking. Hmmm… I’ve seen blind people using a cane to make their way around, let’s see how well it works._

He sorted out his collected items. _Food and drink aren’t really useable for making a cane. So, what can I do with ghast hide? Or golden swords? Or quartz shards?_

He picked up the largest chunk of quartz, a piece of white crystal the size of his fist. _Can I break this into something rod-like? Let’s find out._ Placing the quartz on a netherwrack protrusion, Herobrine stood above it, holding a golden sword with both hands as he raised it above his head. He swung the weapon at the crystal; the quartz zinged off into a nearby wall. Picking up and inspecting the quartz shard proved that the sword hadn’t damaged the rock in any way; he tossed it to the side.

His eyes turned to the golden swords. _I can beat them into somewhat different shapes, although it takes forever with chunks of netherwrack. But I can’t meld the pieces into a single unit. I’ve tried beating the parts into thin sheets and beating them together, I’ve tried melting them by dipping the ends into lava, I’ve tried tying the pieces together with strips of ghast hide. Nothing works with any real degree of success._ He tossed the gold swords on top of the quartz.

Finally, he turned to the ghast hide _. In this form it’s useless, it can’t be used to make anything stiff. But leather can be hardened by baking it. Let’s see if it’s possible to roast it into a more usable state._

Some while later, Herobrine held a long strip of baked leather. He tried to bend it using both hands, grinning widely when his efforts failed. For long moments he caressed the strip, feeling its weight, the balance, and its irregular edges. _This piece is too thin for use as it stands. I need to make something thick enough to hold easily, and perhaps heavy enough to use as a weapon. Hmm…_ He perused the various ghast tentacles in his stash, testing each one to find the best grip. Turning his choice inside-out, he stripped away the fatty inner layer. Then, flipping the tentacle right-side out, he filled it with four long strips of already-baked ghast hide.

Herobrine carried the end result over to the nearest lava lake. A small cove with an irregular shoreline provided a place to lay his cane, where it’d bake dry without actually touching the magma. Herobrine sat near the drying leather, regularly turning it so it dried evenly on all sides.

When it appeared almost charred, he wrapped his hands in ghast suede, and carried his prize back into the cave. Setting it down to cool, he finally relaxed on the remnants of the ghast hide. _Once I wake, it’ll be cool enough to handle. From here on out, I learn how to navigate without needing my eyes._

“I’ll beat you yet, Notch,” he vowed to the dark ceiling.

***

Herobrine made it successfully through the cave system, and traversed the terrain between his supplies and the cavern opening eight times before he felt satisfied with his progress. He knelt at the entrance to the cavern, fiddling with the head wrap in his hands. _I’ve practiced walking through the cave, exploring the side chambers, even making my way through a channel where I couldn’t stand upright. I’ve practiced in this limited terrain, picked up as much experience as possible. It’s time to re-introduce myself to the Nether, and to see if my stick is as useful as I believe it to be._

He nervously crawled forward, over the boulders and scree obstructing most of the actual cave opening, concentrating on squinting. Once he could safely stand up, he re-applied the headband, gripped his cane loosely, and began making his slow and careful way along the bottom of the ravine. He froze whenever he heard strange sounds. Moving slowly, he removed the eye cover and examined his surroundings until he located or identified the noise. The hot wind rushing through the ravine produced an intermittent deep bass roar. That same wind, curling around the pumice boulders, whistled sadly. The grit beneath his feet grated and popped, skittering away like a running fox as it tumbled downhill.

He spent endless hours in the ravine, sitting atop a blood-red stone, getting used to the sounds, memorizing them, relaxing a bit more every time he recognized a new noise. While sitting sentry, he inserted a sharpened sliver of quartz to the top of his cane, changing it to a deadly-seeming spear.

One day he exited his cave wearing a ghast-hide backpack and carrying a lone roll of the white hide. He spread the rolled hide on the hillside immediately below the cavern opening.

He shifted his staff into his weapon hand and walked through the by-now familiar ravine, searching for a way out of the chasm, pausing only when the wind’s voice ceased its endless moaning. Peering around, he spotted the slump of detritus from an earlier rockfall. _This ought to get me to the top of the ravine. The next step is to learn to live on the plains. It’s not something I’m looking forward to, but I’m running out of food._

Scrambling up the shifting slope, Herobrine tried to outrace the grit crumbling beneath his feet. He vaulted the last few yards, skidding to a halt as soon as he landed on solid rock.

The wind moaned as it poured over his form. For long moments he used his limited sight, and listened acutely to his surroundings. What little he could see showed him flat land stretching to the limits of his vision. The wind whipped a fine red dust about, obscuring the smaller details of the terrain. Happily, Herobrine saw absolutely no nether monsters around. He trod slowly along, listening to everything the wind and the airborne grit conveyed.

He journeyed further across the flatlands, noting how the wind steadied into a four-note chord that set his teeth on edge. Nowhere did he spot a gully or a cave or any place he could use as a shelter. _Looks like this terrain is worthless for anything except hunting, and maybe not even that._

_I remember being chased across this type of plains by monsters when Notch first exiled me to this realm. There’s not a single one visible now, so I guess they move about as freely as the wind. It makes a kind of sense, they don’t eat, they don’t sleep, and there’s nothing special to look at in this hellscape. That means I can learn the sounds of this biome without the noises Notch’s beasts would add. Right now, I need to find a niche or gully I can claim as my own, somewhere for resting and recovering, or storing supplies._

The possibility of a usable cavern didn’t appear until after Herobrine navigated across the whole plains. He stood at the start of the gully, hungry and thirsty and endlessly weary. _Figures._

Grunts from zombie pigmen drifted out of the chasm. Herobrine stilled, trying to count the different voices from the undead creatures. _Four. I can hear four. Am I really that fortunate? Believing my luck has changed would be the worst type of stupidity; it’s more reasonable to expect a herd of ten._ His grip tightened on his spear. _Let’s see if my eye cover works._

Herobrine dropped down a small ridge, navigating carefully through the boulders and rubble until he could hear the pigmen immediately before him. Swinging the butt of his spear loosely across the ground to determine the clearest path, he inserted himself into their midst.

They paid him no mind.

He stood in the center of the small group, only catching quick glimpses of rotting pink limbs or exposed ribs. He slowly turned in a circle, letting the beasts see his bandaged face. His heart picked up its pace as the creatures continued to ignore him.

_It works. It works, they don’t recognize me!_

He started chuckling in relief. His mirth first filled, then overflowed the ravine. Herobrine clutched his spear as the laughter escaped his control; he began choking on his emotions. He gripped the staff like a lifeline, slowly sinking to his knees, and his breathing morphed into harsh sobs. Tears soaked his eye cover and streaked his face with red clay. He knelt on the uneven stony ground and wept freely.

“Why!” Herobrine roared to the skies. “What did I do to deserve this! I was defending myself, what’s wrong with that!!”

Exhaustion finally overpowered his outburst. For long moments Herobrine struggled to suck in a deep breath, to regain control of himself. His hands shook.

A nearby slab of pumice helped him regain his feet; he wobbled over to the ravine wall. Taking his time, he poked the butt of his spear behind the boulders, seeking an empty space large enough to accommodate his frame. His weapon poked into such an opening behind the third boulder.

Shrugging his pack off, he crawled into the tiny space, kicking the rubble out. With difficulty, he pulled out two chunks of ghast blubber and one large slab of dried pigman meat. The blubber went down quickly, its liquid helping to loosen his tongue from the top of his mouth.

The pigman meat refused to go down easily. _It’s bacon,_ he reminded himself, _it’s seasoned bacon, nothing more._

After he finished his meal, Herobrine lay down as best he could, using the backpack as a pillow. _I’ve finally got a chance to beat this. And when I get out, Notch will pay._


	6. Reduced to Entertainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other gods start treating Herobrine's exile as a comedic farce, so that Notch will distance himself from his brother.

Notch floated in the lotus position behind His temple, right next to the pool of visions. He looked inward, disturbed for no discernable reason. _The children are fine, they’re healthy and happy. The realm overflows with their joy. The mortals prosper, their numbers increase daily. So why am I still dissatisfied? Why does everything still feel off? What am I missing?_

Reluctantly Notch turned his attention to the Nether. He heard nothing more than the moan of the furnace-hot wind. _I still feel him. Damn you, Herobrine, why’d you turn so murderous? If you’d listened to me—if you just controlled your temper—this would never have happened! You forced Me to choose between you and the other gods, why couldn’t you be happy with the way things were?_

“Excuse me, please? Great One?”

Notch turned to face his new companion. Parvi stood at the edge of the vision pool, stroking her golden silk scarf. She appeared worried.

The creator schooled His features into a pleasant expression. “Yes, Parvi?”

She smiled uncertainly. “You appear distressed, Lord.”

“It’s nothing.”

“We feel your distress. Please, let me distract You from Your problems. I’ve just completed a comedy skit, and I’d be honored if You’d preview the work.”

Notch managed a small smile. “Certainly, Parvi, and thanks.” The goddess of entertainment led Notch to one of the amphitheaters on the Aetherian island; the pair seated themselves on the foremost row.

The creator laughed throughout the presentation; His chuckles continued as He left the amphitheater, giving Parvi a wide smile. “You’ve earned My thanks, your small play turned out to be quite delightful.”

“I am pleased You found it so appealing,” she purred in response.

“Mind you, making BlowHard’s entire head glow was excessive. Nevertheless, the play remains vastly satisfying. He always had a puffed-up opinion of himself.”

“I exist to serve,” she assured Notch as He headed back towards the temple.

Once He disappeared into the building, the other three actors gathered around their leader. “You did well,” Parvi praised her accomplices. “You made Herobrine appear the fool. A regular diet of this mockery should cool Notch’s fondness for His exiled brother. With enough time, He’ll be more willing to hand out the remaining powers He ripped from his brother. After that, killing Herobrine will progress from being prohibited to becoming essential.”


	7. Claiming a New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herobrine decides to claim a fortress as his own

Cane clutched in one hand, Herobrine stood at the base of a small spire of netherwrack just above a large plain in the Nether. A chunk of quartz adhered to the side of the spire near the top. Herobrine stared at the quartz through two narrow slits in his head wrap. He turned to the direction the crystal’s sharp end pointed, and headed out into the plains, waving his stick smoothly before him.

The cane clicked loudly as it smacked against rocks, warning Herobrine of the obstruction. It released a hollow echo if it dipped into a pothole. Keenly attuned to the cane’s sounds, Herobrine adjusted his path accordingly, only occasionally glancing down. He concentrated on finding a discarded ghast hide lying on the ground.

Hearing the splurp of lava in the immediate vicinity, he froze, then raised his cane above the ground as he searched for the bright orange liquid. The puddle lay to his left; the ex-deity carefully shifted to the right, then lowered the cane end back to the ground.

Worry erupted in his stomach as he discovered an unexpected drop-off. Standing at the rocky edge, he pulled off his eye covering to get a clear view of what lay below. He surveyed a lava sea. A large pile of rubble lay at the cliff’s base, perhaps thirty feet below; the white ghast hide lay among the larger boulders next to the lava.

Growling in frustration, Herobrine returned to the spire, giving the plains the evil eye. _I marked the location of my stash with the quartz spire. The beasts should’ve ignored the ghast hide I used as a marker, as well as the ghast-hide chest I fashioned. I needed those supplies!_

Herobrine punched the spire angrily. _Even the land conspires against me! I’m not putting up with this, from here on out my supplies go where nothing can reach them!_

He shrugged the backpack into a more comfortable position and turned away from the plains, heading towards the coastal mountains. On the other side of the mountains lay a lava ocean. A nether fortress protruded partially into the ocean. _No monsters threaten a fortress, or what resides therein. It’s time I claimed it for myself._

***

Several sleep periods later, Herobrine stood atop the mountain the fortress protruded from. He looked across the mountaintop to where the rocky terrain merged with the black bricks. Stepping onto the rampart, Herobrine strode swiftly to the tower at the end of the walk. Flames flickered erratically from the tower, licking at the edges of the open doors, and the archer slots.

_Clearly a blaze lair resides in this guardroom. Their native weapons will be perfect for what I intend._

He snuck over to the side of one of the open doors, and peeled the headband off. A quick glance showed four blazes hovering in the middle of the guardroom, occasionally voicing a multi-chord hum filled with the sound of crackling flames. He leaped into the room, the spear already moving. The blaze immediately before him got stabbed through its main cylinder. Herobrine swept the body into a second blaze to his right; the pair fell to the ground, tangled around one another.

Herobrine slammed the butt of his spear backwards, shattering the body of the blaze behind him.

Snugly gripping the spear shaft against his forearm, Herobrine turned to the left and slapped the last blaze in the head so hard with his weapon it left a divot behind.

Letting that blaze fall unimpeded, Herobrine stabbed the one blaze who still struggled.

Ensuring the blazes were truly dead, Herobrine knelt by the corpses and ripped their bodies apart. Ten blaze rods lay before him once he completed the gruesome task.

_Excellent._

Swinging his backpack off and within reach, Herobrine pulled a roll of ghast hide out, and a golden-bladed knife. Soon, all ten blaze rods bore ghast-hide hilts and lanyards. He selected the sword that felt the most balanced, and stood up. “Now I take this fortress as my own.”


	8. They Grow Up So Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young gods grow up, but they're not like Notch imagined them.

AN EON LATER…

Stern-faced, Notch entered His throne room from the rear. He approached the gold-and-glowstone throne and settled on its red satin cushion. Taking a deep breath, the creator rested His arms on the armrests, and closed His eyes to compose Himself.

 _Today will be a good day. No arguments will arise, no violence shall ensue. The gods will be sane, sensible, and reasonable. They will actually get along today._ The frustration thrumming through his veins got crammed into a prison constructed of willpower, and buried deep. He smoothed His face into a pleasantly neutral expression, and waved the doors to the temple open.

The many gods flowed in, a barrage of silk, brocades, and gems that surpassed the colors any rainbow produced. Even with the plentitude of colors, Notch easily discerned the cliques. The vast majority of gods wore blood-red, signifying they followed Tychmer, the god of war. Aelum, who headed the food and forest deities, preferred the various shades of green. Parvi and her entertainers used gold and orange as their emblems. And the gods of knowledge wore white.

Parvi and her clique approached His throne. She and her people sank down to the temple floor in a supple maneuver that left the other deities agog. “Great Creator,” she looked up from the swath of glistening fabrics surrounding her, “I come bearing a tale of woe. The Intemini zealots suddenly started massacring wandering entertainers near the Nuralinga border with Fassineth. I know of at least two dozen caravans they’ve slaughtered in the past month. What I’ve not been able to discern is the reason for such monstrous behavior.”

Notch scowled. _The Intemini zealots live on the far side of Fassineth, what reason could drive them to the Nuralinga border?_ “How odd,” He commented. “Thelmet,” and the head of the gods of knowledge stepped forward. “The Intemini follow your tenants, as I recall.”

“No, Lord, they follow Austerrin the Monk.”

Notch blinked in surprise. “When did that happen?”

“Several centuries ago, Lord,” Thelmet coughed slightly.

“Ah. Well, Austerrin is under your command, correct?”

Thelmet shook his head. “Lord, Austerrin broke from the practices of knowledge and wisdom. He seeks to create a nation of fanatical warriors to willingly follow his every whim.”

“This is unacceptable,” Notch growled. “Approach Austerrin and warn him of the consequences of such behavior.”

“I’ve already done so, to no avail,” Thelmet responded. “I removed his knowledge and ability to influence others, but that made no difference.” He turned to look at Tychmer. “Austerrin’s found a new patron-god, one who has uses for these fanatics.”

Tychmer smirked in response. “Aww, is the widdle brain-boy upset because nobody wants to play under his banner anymore?”

“Tychmer!” Notch roared, standing up.

The god of war cringed back, hands out. “I did nothing wrong, Lord. The people decided to follow me, I’m merely accepting what is offered!”

“You shall hold a civil tongue, or you shall never speak again,” Notch snapped.

The god of war paled, bowing deeply as he backed away.

Notch turned His eye to the Intemini in the Overworld, reading their minds and hearts. He scowled even deeper as the examination finished. “Austerrin,” He summoned the other god to His temple.

Austerrin appeared in a flash, wide-eyed. He held a stiletto in either hand, clearly practicing fighting with those weapons. He hurriedly sheathed the weapons and bowed deeply to Notch once he recognized his surroundings. “Reverend Lord,” he intoned like a chant.

“Isn’t that what you call Tychmer?” Notch retorted shortly. “Why did you give up the monastic life, and the people who depended on you? Why did you decide supporting assassins was a more worthy goal?”

Austerrin swallowed. “The god of war illuminated the gap in—professions for people. It—appealed to me—so I accepted his offer to become one of his lieutenants.”

“Why?”

“Knowledge for the sake of knowledge is too vague a goal to appeal to mortals. Only one or two truly seek the degree of perfection necessary. Monastics are dying out; I decided to expand my horizons.”

Notch surveyed his gods yet again, counting the ocean of red that confronted him.

His gaze returned to Austerrin. A snap of his fingers, and Austerrin’s garb was blood-red. “So, you choose to support War. Very well, I accept your decision.” His voice rose in volume, gaining a chill that belonged in the Void. “Now hear My proclamation. You forsook the people of the Kangalli mountains. Therefore, I bind you to that land; if you ever step outside of that region, you will wither and die. The people who willingly followed you share your fate—if any leave their native region, they too shall die.

“You refused to hear the pleas of your less-rabid followers when you corrupted the ways of the Intemini. Since you don’t seem to use your ears, I’ve removed them. From this day forth, you are cursed with deafness.”

The gods backed away fearfully. Notch rose from his throne, eyeing them angrily. “Court is over for the day.”

These machinations turned His stomach. But the aftermath was even worse. A group of minor gods gathered near, applauding His bold stand, agreeing with everything He did.

Uvennil, the black-haired god of the forests, rubbed his hands. “Thank You for Your bold stand against the oppressive warmongers!” His three cohorts agreed.

“Most masterfully done!”

“That will remind Tychmer of his place, all right!”

“Yes, thank you. If you don’t mind, I need a bit of time to myself…” Notch retreated into His quarters. For a long time, He stood on the balcony, surveying the main island without actually seeing it. _When did Tychmer turn into a malignant bully? When did Austerrin become a tool? And Thelmet--! He’s not fighting for his people; he lets them go without batting an eye! They all started out so joyful, so innocent! Where did it go wrong? And how can I fix it?_

***

Later that evening Notch strolled through one of the more isolated gardens in the Aether. The evening air gently flowed across His face and neck. He paced along the smooth marble pathways, ignoring the many benches nestled into nooks and crannies, the alabaster statues on display.

When He clearly knew what to say, to bring the wayward god back in line, He selected a small clearing where a fountain dribbled water down set channels into a shallow lapis bowl. He positioned Himself so the fountain lay behind Him. “Tychmer,” He commanded, stretching out His hand, “come.”

The god of war appeared before Notch, wearing only his pants. Shock wrapped about his face for a second. “Notch!” he gasped, running a hand through his messy hair. “What are You … uh … why am I here?”

“We need to speak,” Notch replied. “Walk with me.” He turned and set a pedantic pace, ensuring Tychmer had no problem keeping up. “It’s come to my attention that a number of the other gods are discomfited by your presence—and your actions.”

“Discomfited. You mean they’re scared of me,” Tychmer clarified.

“Yes.” Notch side-eyed the young god. “Such strong reactions were unexpected—especially from gods. I find that you’ve coerced a number of your peers to support your actions as you work against the other gods.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me!” the creator snapped, and the Aether sky flashed with lightning across the entire realm.

Tychmer stepped back, pale as a dead mortal. “I—I meant no disrespect,” he stuttered.

“Then you shouldn’t try to delude me—or to subjugate your peers. If Foleah doesn’t bow to your will and spread lies to the other gods, your cohort Behenzo ‘punishes’ him by eradicating a quarter of his followers. As a result, his presence on the Overworld is in danger of being wiped out. This shall have a dire effect on the Overworld, as many mortals live off the fish he provides.

“There’s also the case of Genitha, goddess of instrumental music. You swore eternal love to her, to get her twin Alnuif on your side. As a result, Alnuif must help you sway the other gods into following your commands. You informed him that any reluctance on his part will be paid for by Genitha.”

Tychmer’s stance straightened, becoming defiantly bold. “So?” he challenged. “They’re weak, meant to serve a superior force. Someone’d scoop them up, one way or another.”

“They’re gods!” Notch snapped. “They come from the same background as you! I made you a family, brothers and sisters all!”

The god of war gawped at the creator for a second, then broke out laughing. “What’s that got to do with anything?” he barked. “So they’re siblings! So what?”

“You don’t treat family like lesser beings!” Notch roared.

Tychmer leaned back on his heels, smirking. “You did.”

“What!”

The god of war gestured to the side. “You destroyed your brother, and cast him into the nether, so You could get hold of his powers for Yourself. I’m just following Your example, and collecting what powers I can for myself.”

“I exiled him because he butchered the family we’d put together earlier!”

“Sure,” Tychmer scoffed. “Which is why You can create Life now. I’m certain that talent once belonged to Your brother, since You’re still trying to master it.”

Notch staggered back from the accusation. “Listen to Me,” He growled. “Herobrine murdered your predecessors. The punishment I used was the only way to keep him from annihilating any other gods I created.”

“And it didn’t hurt one lick that You profited handsomely in the process,” Tychmer sniped. “Now if You’re done, Great Creator…”

He turned to leave. Notch stopped him from moving. “Tychmer,” the creator spoke with an icy tone, “mend your ways. Cease tormenting your siblings. Or you may well wake up in the Nether yourself.”

The war god bristled. “You wouldn’t dare,” he growled back.

“Heed My warning,” was all Notch said as He returned to His quarters. The creator snatched up a cup of ambrosia from an end table and drained it swiftly. Evaporating the goblet once the drink was gone, Notch turned back to the balcony, staring out at the stars glistening in the firmament. _Those accusations aren’t true; they can’t be true… can they?_


	9. A Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eon that passed wasn't kind to Herobrine either.

His eyes uncovered, Herobrine strode purposefully down a long straight hallway in his fortress. Clutching his spear and sword, he headed for the lowest level in the fortress, where the cells lay. His sling wrapped around his waist, holding the essential bag of quartz shards used as ammo in place; a chunk of white suede flapped against one of his legs as he walked.

Reaching the cells, he slowed down, sweeping his eyes across each room. Most were uninhabited, dark boxes filled with lava-hot air and nothing else. But four wither skeletons inhabited the final cell, holding their stone swords as they idly waited for something to change. Herobrine smiled at his prisoners, glad he trapped something. As a single unit, the captive monsters approached the bars and stood staring at his glowing eyes.

“Ah, yes, fresh meat,” he rasped. “It’s a pity my trap didn’t snag more; you’re not enough to make it a real challenge, but I’m bored. Tell you what, I’ll take a handicap; that’ll enliven our contest.”

He shoved his left arm through the bars. The wither skeletons struck immediately, deeply slicing his forearm several times with their weapons. Herobrine pulled away from the cell when his blood began spattering across the brick floors. He watched as a black-gray taint surrounded each bleeding gash, fading away after a moment.

“Sorry to disappoint, but your poison doesn’t affect me anymore,” he sneered as he tugged the swath of suede from his belt and wrapped his arm snugly. Once he tied the crude bandage in place, he gripped his spear and unsheathed his blaze rod sword. Using the haft of the spear, he forced the lever to the cell door up.

The door opened; the wither skeletons came running out, their swords ready. Herobrine turned and raced down the hallway, his mocking laughter trailing behind him. Opening a door at the end of the hallway, he rushed out into the nether environment.

Herobrine didn’t stop until he stood in the center of a flat 50 x 50 square of flat ground. “Hurry up, charbones!” he taunted. “Too aggressive to tame, too stupid to train; the only thing you’re good for is being practice dummies!”

The unit of wither skeletons charged at him, holding their formation. Herobrine shook his head. _How predictable._ He ran at one, ramming his spear between its ribs; using the spear shaft as a level, he threw the wither skeleton over his head and four or five blocks away. Then he danced around the other three, who attempted to surround him.

“Better!” he encouraged them. Selecting a second target, he stepped just within striking distance and blocked their sword with his own. Torqueing his body, he smashed the spear shaft against the wither skeleton’s black head, shattering the hard bone to bits. It collapsed, breaking apart into individual bones with a dry clatter.

The remaining two withers attacked; Herobrine met them both with a sweeping blow from his sword. The blow ripped both skeletons in half; they dropped to the ground in uneven heaps of bone.

Herobrine sauntered around the bone piles, tsking. “Not enough of a workout to count. Guess I’ll go harass something else.”

No monster alerted him to their presence as he stood above his victims; only the bursting of lava bubbles, and the low moan of the eternal Nether wind, surrounded him. He let the headwrap remain at his belt. The question of what to challenge next occupied his mind as he returned to the fortress doorway. _Let’s see, magma cubes give me some trouble, but only because they’re fully functional even when quartered. They’re also somewhat resistant to the cutting effect of a blaze rod. But they’re not common anywhere, so there’s no sense in working up a strategy for defeating large groups of the slimy things._

_ I could go hunt ghasts, I’d keep my skill with the sling sharp.  _ He paused. _No, they’ve been getting scarce in this region, I need to be careful about hunting them to extinction._

He sighed. _Which means I need to return to figuring out why I can’t construct a successful javelin. There must be a trick to the weight distribution—_

Lost in thought, Herobrine turned the corner of the fortress tower, and came face-to-face with something he’d never seen before. It appeared humanoid—two arms, two legs, one head, upright carriage—but it wore a glowing carapace. The ex-deity froze in place. _What is this thing!_

The creature stopped cold, staring at Herobrine for a second; then it screamed, flailing its arms around.

Herobrine’s eyes widened even further; he screamed back, and attacked. He used both sword and spear against the monster, stabbing it repeatedly until it lay in a heap of butchered flesh at his feet.

He backed away slowly, gasping, trying to control the panic thrumming through his muscles. _How did it sneak up on me!_

The sound of feet pounding his way sent his adrenalin spiking even further. A dozen more such creatures charged around the corner. Herobrine noted the presence of swords and shields as he rushed the group. The closest monster received his sword through its throat; then he twisted, thrusting his spear at full strength into the shoulder joint of the next beast. Deflecting a sword-stroke with his own blade, Herobrine yanked his spear free and slammed the butt into another opponent’s face.

He swiftly destroyed the monsters, then tried to merge with the fortress wall. Worried about encountering more of these aberrations, Herobrine slid along the bricks until he reached the door to the cells, which he entered and swiftly locked. Running back through the blood-dark hallways, he finally reached his private room. The ex-deity inserted himself into a corner, facing the door, clutching his weapons tight; he trembled. _What were those things! Shaped like a pigmen, but with a shell of some sort. It wields a sword like the pigmen, too. But it screams! So, it must be a ghast. Or related to a ghast. Perhaps this thing is a pigman/ghast hybrid? It must be able to fly, I never heard it approach._

After a few more breaths, Herobrine snarled his anger. “Thanks, Notch, yet another monstrosity sent my way! I’ll pay You back for throwing these beasts at me too.”

He crossed his legs as he sat on his ghast hide bed, focusing on slowing his breathing, on regaining control of the terror that spiked through him earlier. _They hunt in packs because they’re not very fast. Their shell isn’t overly protective. I didn’t see any of them trying to spit an explosive blast my way, so it’s one less worry._

_ But they can fly. And I’m positive they’d overwhelm me if I ever let them attack en masse. I need to track them down, find out their preferred terrain, how many there are. As well as how to fight them. _

He growled. _It’s a pity I can’t send their heads to Notch on a platter, it’d make me feel a lot better._

Opening one of the chests in his quarters, Herobrine sat on his bed and gnawed on a slab of dried pigman, followed up by a handful of ghast blubber. He contemplated his new opponents. _Both sword and spear work well against them. I’ll bet you they’re not immune to lava. And their carapace … it might be strong enough to hold off a dagger, or a fist, I must snag a few to find out. If I can get a javelin that actually works, I can use them as test subjects._

_ We’ll start our hunt after a nap, no sense going into this tired. _

***

Back down at the base of his fortress, Herobrine carefully approached the cadavers of the unknown monsters. The blood spilled across the ground long ago dried into black scrapings across the pumice; their bodies shriveled as the Nether heat slowly baked them into mummies.

A chunk of carapace from one of the beasts lay a good distance from the creature’s body. Herobrine poked at it with his spear, flipping it over and exposing the inner portion of the item. _It’s got straps! This isn’t a bug’s exoskeleton, or anything of the sort, it’s armor!_

Herobrine swiftly collected the metal protections into a large pile. He knelt and examined each piece carefully. _Some of this stuff is wrapped in magic; these things are smarter than I thought. The question is, how intelligent? It might be a problem. I’ll have to ascertain their capacity for thought, see if I can figure out how savvy they are._

_ I’ll also have to keep an eye out for any enchantments when I fight them. _

Rising back to his feet, Herobrine adjusted his backpack and walked about the entirety of the nether fortress, seeking any sign of their back trail, growling softly when he found no trace. He expanded his search range.

A strange sound drew his attention into a long chasm. He jumped from boulder to boulder, down the side of the gully, expecting to be attacked at any time. He landed noiselessly at the bottom and paused, looking around and listening intently, ensuring nothing raced down the sides or along the belly of the canyon to attack him. Only the hot wind whipped between the rocks, whistling as it meandered along the ravine’s depths.

Herobrine wove a careful path along the bottom of the gully, searching for the noise source. He stopped at the sight of an obsidian rectangle anchored between the gorge walls. A curtain of magenta energy rippled and coiled within the framework. For long moments he gawped at the object.

_ It’s a portal to a different realm! How did this happen? Who made this happen! _

Herobrine stood before the still-functioning portal debating with himself. _This portal is a way out of this hellish prison. I’ve been trying to escape ever since my cursed brother threw me here. But where will this portal deposit me? Surely not in the Aether. Perhaps the Overworld? Wait, does that mean those things which attacked me earlier were mortals?_

“I made them!” he objected to the sky. “They weren’t supposed to look like—that! Notch, what did You do to my creations! Why did You mangle them! You’re trying to steal everything from me! You monster, I’ll make You pay!”

Incensed, Herobrine stepped onto the lowest level of the portal, and let it carry him to the unknown realm.

\---------------------------------

As a deity, Herobrine viewed mortals in their entirety; their bodies, their souls, their auras, even some glimpses of their stronger thoughts. As a mortal, he only saw their bodies, and the difference was so vast he didn't recognize them.


	10. Return to the Overworld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s just another sunny, breezy day in the Overworld... when Steve meets Herobrine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Violence in this chapter, not graphic.

Herobrine stepped out of the portal and into a searing light so intense that it felt like a dagger got rammed to the hilt in each eye. The weapons dropped to the ground as he clenched his face, screaming from the pain.

Falling off the lip of the portal, Herobrine landed on his knees, then staggered upright. Peeling a hand from his face—exposing himself to the horrible burning light—required every bit of will he possessed, wringing groans and whimpers free throughout the process. But he successfully pulled the headwrap from his belt. He covered his eyes with the blessed darkness of the suede wrapping as swiftly as possible, all the while lurching across the uneven landscape. The pain in his eyes receded somewhat, but only while he kept his eyes tight shut.

When the burning eased from excruciating to simple agony, he finally noted the cacophony of the environment assaulting his hearing. Branches scraped against other branches, and grass rustled, and fallen leaves crackled softly; he twitched uncomfortably at each noise. _What are those sounds; what’s attacking me?_

The wind carried people’s shouts, and their heavy footsteps, as they rushed him; his adrenalin kicked into overdrive. When an unseen someone grabbed his arm, he gripped his opponent’s the wrist and threw them to the ground. Swiftly bending down, he snatched up the creature’s weapon, and stabbed the thing at his feet.

Then Herobrine backed up until his shoulder blades scraped against a boulder. Given a few seconds to concentrate, he determined where the attacking monsters stood by the wealth of sounds surrounding them. Sucking in a great breath, he lunged at the closest creature, sword arm fully extended. The blow struck true, and passed through the body; he jerked the weapon free.

Another two-legged beast charged from the side; he heard its blade whistle as it cut through the air. Endless hours training came into play; Herobrine stepped beyond the weapon’s range, then back into place, his own stroke winging out; the blade sank into something soft. With his other hand he reached out where he’d last heard the creature’s weapon, finding it on the ground next to his enemy’s corpse.

Now bearing two weapons, Herobrine shifted into an L-stance and advanced on the next opponent. This creature stopped as Herobrine swung; the ex-deity felt his sword bite into a large wooden slab of some sort. “A shield,” he snarled, and kicked at the wooden protection, knocking his assailant far away.

Muscle memory from years of training jumped into action. He lunged forward and gutted the closest foe, then stepped to the right and slammed his other weapon into another opponent’s shoulder. Twisting on his heel, Herobrine then crossed both swords and caught the head of an axe before it connected. He leaped back, disentangling his blades; another lunge hit the axe wielder in the gut, ending that threat.

Herobrine spun further to his left and swung both swords in parallel, slicing through another foe.

Afterwards he stopped completely, listening for the sounds of another attack, shivering violently in the icy wind. _I can’t tell, there are too many sounds I don’t recognize._ Leaves swirled about his legs; he leaped up and away, swinging the swords downward to protect himself from whatever touched him. A nearby tree’s branches rubbed against one another, prompting the ex-deity to strike with both swords, scoring the bark while sending jarring force up his arms. _What is this thing!_

Unknown creatures, sounding larger than the wither skeletons, neighed and stomped their hooves; Herobrine skittered nervously away from the restive beasts.

_ I need to get back to the Nether, away from this nightmare land! _ Using the sword in his dominant hand, Herobrine swept the blade along the ground, struggling to translate what he heard into directions for walking. His teeth chattered from the incredibly frigid air.

His feet slipped up on a rock covered with some bizarre, fuzzy substance; he jerked frantically away from the infested stone, falling to his knees again, dropping the swords. The ex-deity frantically patted the ground before him until he recovered his weapons. Then he rose to his feet and resumed the search.

_ It’s loud, I remember how the portal practically screamed in my ears, why can’t I hear it? _

The wind picked up, ruffling his hair with gusts of freezing air. His shivers strengthened, and he struggled to keep hold of his weapons. The sword tip bounced off the ground in time with his tremors, rendering it next to worthless for providing the lay of the land. Herobrine stumbled over far too many undetected rocks, banging his shins and knees repeatedly.

One particularly bad fall stretched the ex-deity flat on the ground. He staggered upright, then lurched to the side as the gravel beneath his feet skittered into an unseen hole. He fell, and kept falling. Herobrine cried out in terror, limbs splayed out as the air whipped past his face. Agony exploded when he slammed into the ground; then consciousness winked out.

***

Hugging the chasm’s wall, Steve kept a wary eye out for any hunters. Earlier, he’d heard a posse traipsing along the lip of the ravine, their nervous horses shying away from the sudden drop, their metal armor grating against itself. The unfairness of the situation riled his temper; he beat it back into its corner of his mind.

_ Why won’t they leave me alone? I’m miles away from the village where the cave-in occurred… are these self-righteous lowlifes planning to hound me for the rest of my life? _

His prize lay in his weather-beaten green backpack, carefully wrapped in both of Steve’s extra shirts. His eyes flicked to the side as he felt the precious commodity slosh unevenly. _Maybe they heard I had something the crazy Reverend needed? Nah, there’s nobody else who knows I’m even in the area. It’s not like they bother to track me… and even if they did, that ride down the rapids would’ve thrown any hunter off._

Steve jumped when he heard someone scream in terror, stopping abruptly with a meaty splat nearby. As keyed-up as he felt, the shriek nearly wrenched a scream from his own throat. He dropped down among the boulders, peering around cautiously, slowly easing from among the cover as nothing further happened.

He spotted the body lying on the trail a short distance away. Steve swallowed hard and approached the corpse. _How did this poor fool wind up down here? There’s so much blood--! Every bone in his body must be shattered._

When the body twitched, Steve jumped again. “Oh Notch, he’s still alive!” Yanking his backpack off, Steve reached into its depths and pulled out his most recent acquisition—a healing potion. He unwrapped it, popped the cover and, gently prying the victim’s mouth slightly open, dribbled a few drops of the liquid between bloody lips.

“Come on, buddy, swallow,” he encouraged the injured man, stroking his throat.

The man coughed weakly, spitting out a thick gob of blood. Steve looked at the sputum and sighed—none of the potion tinted the blood. Relief working its way through his shoulders, Steve continued to administer tiny amounts of the healing drought to the stranger until he finished the bottle.

Sitting back on his heels, Steve closely examined the unfortunate traveler. “Why are your eyes covered—by Notch, did they throw a blind man down here?! What’s this world coming to! And your clothes… black suede pants and boots? That’s all you wear?” He leaned away from the other with a sudden thought. _This guy could be an assassin—no, don’t be dumb Steve, he’s blind! I’ll bet those rags are all he could scrounge up._

Steve noted the deep bruises and heavy swelling on the other man’s limbs. “Yeah, you’re gonna take a while to get over this.” He picked up his extra shirts from the ground; shaking his head, he pulled his dagger and proceeded to hack the cloth apart into long strips, promptly putting them to use as bandages. 

Sheathing his sword and lighting the lantern, the miner managed to hoist the man across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Scooping up the light with his free hand, Steve began the long walk into the depths of the earth, to his hideaway.

***

Watching the latest tragedy Parvi had scripted, Notch frowned when all the actors stopped in the middle of a soliloquy. They rubbed at their sternums, seeming distressed. The creator stood and quickly ascended the steps to the stage. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, Lord, nothing more than a sudden case of indigestion,” the goddess shook her head and straightened, catching the eye of her peers as well as the fellow actors. “It’s a small disturbance, vanishing even as we speak. Perhaps the snails from last night weren’t as fresh as we’d been led to believe…? At any rate, it’s not worth fussing over. I apologize most profoundly for this interruption into the play.”

“You’re certain it’s nothing significant,” Notch asked again.

Parvi smiled brightly. “As I said, Lord, it’s a minor nuisance; it fades away even as we speak.” She escorted Notch back to His seat, assuring him of her well-being.

Turning back to the stage, the goddess narrowed her eyes, frowning fiercely. _What was that?!_


	11. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting of minds occurs, and someone's mind gets blown.

Standing next to his fireplace, Steve stirred a nasty concoction of crushed willow bark into a kettle of water, attempting to make some tea. “This better work,” he mumbled.

He glanced over at his unexpected—and most uncommon—guest. The man shivered incessantly. Only laying him on a slab of stone heated by lava calmed the tremors. _His bare chest is covered with scars of every sort; clearly, he’s a warrior. Which makes no sense, the guy’s blind! Well, maybe he’s some sort of gladiator who got hit in the eyes, and someone decided to literally throw him away._

“I hate people,” Steve growled at the mental image.

Once the concoction in the kettle turned brown as swamp-water, he pulled it off the fire and scooped out the bark fragments, then poured the liquid into a cup to cool. Tasting the drink nearly gagged him. “Honey—lots of honey,” he decided, scooping a major dollop of golden sweetness into the brown concoction.

It helped—somewhat. The miner then carried the cup over to his guest, placing the medicine safely on the floor. He lifted the other’s shoulders, planning to elevate him enough to drink without choking on it. In the next instant, he felt someone grab his shoulders and throw him towards the nearest wall. He bellowed as he slapped into the cave wall. Collapsed in an ungainly heap on the floor, Steve quickly leaped to his feet to face any attackers.

But there weren’t any others; only the stranger he’d been trying to help, likewise sprawled out on the ground. Steve gawped at him as the other straightened his arms and legs out, groaning the entire time. “You better stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” he warned the other. “You’ve got broken bones.”

The other froze, then turned to face the miner. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice deep and grating. “Where am I? What happened?”

“I’m Steve,” the miner responded sharply. “You’re in my temporary home, down in the bowels of the Overworld. I found you splattered at the bottom of a ravine, and brought you here to help you recover. You’re welcome, by the way.

“Now, who the Nether are you? And how did you wind up getting tossed down a chasm like this? Did someone throw you, or did you somehow fall by yourself?”

The other ignored him, shivering again.

Steve noted the shaking and sighed. “Ok. I’m coming over to pick you up, to put you back on your way-too-hot bed.”

He picked up the injured man carefully, and lay him back on the heated stone slab; the trembling eased shortly thereafter.

In the meantime, Steve reached down and picked up the cup. “I’m holding a medicinal tea, you need to swallow as much of it as you can. It’s for pain. Let me brace your back, it will make drinking easier.”

The miner managed to elevate his guest’s torso so he could drink, amazed at how easily the man swallowed the nasty concoction. “Wow. Did you even taste it?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I don’t wanna know,” Steve admitted, laying the injured man supine. He backed away and sat in the nearby chair. “So, you are…?”

The man appeared to examine him for some moments; Steve caught himself wondering if he somehow saw through the blindfold. “You’re a mortal,” the stranger finally declared.

“Yessss?” _Where is this conversation taking me? I’m a mortal—so? Who isn’t?_

“I’m Herobrine.”

“Right…” For long moments Steve stared at his injured guest, thunderstruck. Then epiphany struck. “Right, you’re injured, clearly you’ve got a concussion. Don’t worry,” he patted the other gently on the shoulder, “after a few days’ rest, you’ll be good as new.”

“How did I get so battered?”

_ Yep, he’s concussed, all right. _ “You dove into a canyon. Do you remember anything of the event—your fall?”

After another extended silence, his guest admitted, “I tripped and fell.”

“How did you get out there, in the middle of nowhere, to fall in the first place?” Steve asked, mind-boggled. “Nobody stayed with you, nobody guided you, to keep you from getting killed? How the Nether did you get so far from—wherever you’re from?”

When his guest remained silent, Steve shrugged. “It’s all right, you’re concussed. Your memories will return in a day or three. Are you hungry?”

At the reluctant nod, Steve handed him some cold rabbit. He returned to the fire to collect a bowl of mushroom soup for himself; by the time the miner filled the bowl, the cooked rabbit was no more. “Well, you’re skinny as a rail for some reason,” he noted. “Here,” and he formed a cradle with the other’s hands before placing the bowl therein. The soup also disappeared with amazing speed.

The man sighed after emptying the bowl. “Thank you, that was very good.” He reclined once again, slowly and carefully, on the stone slab serving as a bed.

“You ought to rest,” Steve commented. “Sleep when the willow bark dulls the pain. I’ll go collect more for when you wake.”

The stranger nodded slightly, and relaxed more. Steve waited until his breathing evened out. Picking up his backpack, sword, and lantern, the miner headed out into the twisting cave system. “Let’s see what we can figure out about my guest’s past. There ought to be tracks or weapons or something at the lip of the ravine where he fell; enough to piece together what happened to him.”

The cavern winds moaned in uncertain tones as he traversed the pathway upward. He paused just before the tunnel opened up to the ravine and turned the lantern off, then stood in the darkness, letting his eyes adjust. Then he crept toward the opening and stood there surveying the landscape, searching for any potential danger.

When nothing threatening jumped out at him, Steve headed out. Darkness cloaked the bottom of the canyon; the miner felt along one of the walls, heading up a thin trail once he located the goats-path.

He stepped out of the chasm and into the noonday sunlight, scanning his surroundings. “Still in the clear.”

He easily located the spot where the stranger slipped and fell. On the ground next to the canyon lip lay two bloodied swords. Steve scooped them up, appreciating their construction and balance. _These will be useful, I haven’t had a good sword in ages._

Steve resumed his reconnaissance. Backtracking from there required no effort; he followed the swatches of grass ripped out of the ground, newly scarred patches of tree bark, and skid marks among the rocks and gravel on the ground.

An uncommon sound began as a murmur and increased until it drowned out any other noises. Steve approached the area carefully, his eyes drawn to an odd-shaped obsidian form with a sizeable hole in its center. A strangely shimmering energy twisted and whirled about itself, filling the obsidian-encased opening; the power ricocheted off the volcanic glass, acting almost like a trapped wolf. On the ground next to the portal lay a long white bar, as well as a glowing yellow sword with a white hilt. Both weapons bore a thick layer of dried blood.

Steve stared at the formation, and the weapons, for some time. Pulling his eyes from the insane energy veil, he discovered seven bodies lay about the formation. “What happened here?”

Further searching along the ground revealed no trail, though a picket of horses whickered a short distance away. Steve approached the animals slowly, noting how they wore only bridles. The creatures regarded him nervously.

He put his hand out, letting beasts smell him. “Relax, I’m going to let you go, you’ll find better grazing elsewhere.” One by one he released the horses from the picket line, removed their bridles, and let them wander off.

Steve returned to the canyon after fetching the white spear and sword, carefully navigating the path down to the bottom, and returned to his current home. Padding into the lone room, Steve dropped the backpack, settled into his chair, and finally relaxed. 

He cleaned the two swords, and lay them on the table. Then he drew the white sword and spear across his lap, and examined them. “What kind of material is this, leather?” he murmured, rubbing the shaft, noting the dirt ground into the odd substance. Striding over to the fireplace, he picked up a nearby rag, dipped it into a bucket of water, and began to scrub the weapon. The dirt wiped away quickly, exposing the bright white material.

Once he cleaned the shaft, Steve wiped off the spear tip. “What kind of crystal is this? Quartz is supposed to be clear, though you can get a white variation. But the angle of cleavage is all wrong. So, what is this stuff?”

Leaning the weapon against the wall, Steve turned his curiosity to the sword, picking it up by its handle. “And what is this? Some kind of irradiated gold? It appears to have tiny barbs all over its surface… and they move!” Panicked, Steve placed the sword on the floor next to the spear.

“What are these things?” he whispered.

“They’re my weapons,” a hoarse voice to his left informed him.

Steve turned to face the stranger. “You made them?”

“Of course.”

“Those are bizarre arms! What materials did you use?”

The other man sat up slowly. “I used whatever was at hand. Hand me my spear.” Steve relinquished control of the weapon; the man bounced it in his grip for a few seconds. “This is made from hardened ghast hide. The tip is netherquartz, sharpened on netherwrack pumice.”

“You’re saying you entered the Nether. And you made these things from the stuff you found there.”

“Yes. Is that hard to believe?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Give me the sword.” Once he held the sword, the stranger told Steve, “This is a blaze rod fitted with a ghast hide hilt. I sharpened it along one side, and gave it a fine tip, by smoothing it with netherwrack. Like the spear. I needed deadly weapons to fight the many monsters inhabiting the Nether.”

The silence lasted for several moments while Steve absorbed all that information. “Who are you really?” he finally asked.

“I told you. I’m Herobrine.”

“The god of evil and darkness, lord of monsters, and Destroyer by Night,” the miner replied cautiously.

“Who told you those lies?!” Apparently, those words incensed his guest; he seemed willing to cut someone apart for the insult.

“The village priest, my Religions teacher… my parents. It’s also written in mythology books—”

“So, throwing me into the Nether didn’t satisfy You, Notch? You needed to drag my name through the muck as well? I’ll take this insult out on Your hide.” The stranger snarled at the ceiling, as though the gods could hear him through stone.

Steve fought the urge to back away from the other. “You’re claiming to be a god,” he stated. “But you’re down here in the Overworld with the rest of us schmucks. What’s more, you were pretty badly injured when I found you.”

“I’m not a god. Not anymore.”

“How can you be Herobrine and not be a god!”

“By trusting a traitorous, backstabbing brother—one who decided I was better off dead.”

“So, Notch turned on you for no reason, blinded you, then threw you into the Nether. This doesn’t make any sense. You must’ve earned the punishment.” Steve’s mind refused the concept of a vindictive, evil Notch.

“A group of gods attacked me for no reason. I fought back and killed them, reabsorbing my powers from them. Then Notch attacked me.” The other man alternated between growling and snarling his responses.

Steve snorted, recalling his own banishment from civilization. “Ok, I’m inclined to believe that. I’ve been the recipient of bum luck myself. At least my persecutors didn’t blind me before they threw me out of the village.”

“I’m not blind.”

The bald statement caught the miner by surprise. “Then why do you wear a blindfold?”

“I need to protect my eyes from too much sunlight—or any light.”

Steve straightened up, excited to finally know how to convince this poor deluded fool his so-called name didn’t belong to a blind, half-starved warrior. “Prove it. Prove to me you are who you say you are. The legends all insist Herobrine’s eyes glow.”

The man faced Steve for long moments. “Very well. Make the room dark. Turn off any lanterns, smother the torches and fire in the fireplace.”

Steve did as requested, and the cave dropped into a stygian blackness. The miner suddenly saw a light source near his guest; a pure white brilliance, almost blinding in its intensity.

Steve jerked towards the wall abruptly, fighting to swallow a scream. The light emanated from his guest’s eyes.


	12. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herobrine and Steve have their first face-to-face

Steve backed up against the far wall, clutching at the rough places to help remain upright. He found the plea escaping before he could swallow it, “Please don’t kill me.”

His guest snorted. “Why would I do that, when I created your entire species? You were supposed to be our greatest accomplishment.”

Herobrine stood, slowly and painfully, then examined everything about the small cave. “Hand hewn, I see. A single room’s rather rough to live in, yet it’s efficient for heat. Your home is easily cluttered up, you ought to insert a few pieces of furniture into the walls.”

He touched the stone about the fireplace, and glanced up at its smoke vent. “This is inefficient. Anyone could follow the smell of smoke to find your lair. Plus, it’s obviously difficult to collect enough coal to keep this area heated. I’d recommend digging a small pit where the fire presently rests, and filling it with lava.”

Glancing about, Herobrine continued. “This layout is less than ideal for distributing the light from your lanterns. The floor is slanted, as well as pocked with holes. And you’ve got no tapestries to keep the cold of the walls from encroaching.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open.

Slipping the blindfold back on, Herobrine picked up a small piece of kindling and held it right next to the lava beneath where he lay. It caught fire swiftly. The ex-deity carried the burning stick over to the fireplace and used it to re-start the fire.

Then he turned and set the lanterns alight.

Re-seating himself on the rock slab, Herobrine turned to face the other. “These quarters are barren. I’d expected mortals to live on the surface of the Overworld, not in its guts. This isn’t what anyone could call a suitable home.” _I had a better place in the Nether, for crying out loud!_

Steve scoffed, “This isn’t my permanent home.”

“Oh, then this room is a, uh, waystation?”

“This is a bolt-hole, a place I can hide from other people,” Steve admitted unhappily. “I don’t improve it, because there’s no extra material that I can afford to leave behind.”

“Why would you leave your provisions behind?” Herobrine’s confusion sounded in his voice.

Steve shook his head. _God or not, his brains must’ve rattled clean out his ears!_ “I use caves like this until people find me. Then I grab what I can and outrun my pursuers, all the while looking for a different hidey-hole.”

Herobrine observed, “Your enemies sound severely invested in your demise.”

Steve squirmed. “Yeah, they are. I ticked the wrong people off.”

“Clearly.”

“You can’t talk, you got all the gods after your hide,” Steve sniped. _Though I’ve got my doubts about whether you deserved it or not…_ “You’re not the only one with cruddy luck.”

“I see. I think.”

Steve leaned forward. “Did you kill those people around the Portal?”

“Yes. They attacked me; I defended myself before I realized they were mortals like yourself.”

Steve frowned deeply. “There could be more, especially with a Portal involved. And I just got the crazy Reverend to trade with me! I wanted to stay here longer.” 

“We could remove any traces of our presence. Destroy the portal, and let the beasts finish off the corpses.”

Steve shook his head, “It’s not so simple. Obsidian is one of the toughest materials around. Mining it takes specialized tools. I scrounged the tools from the bodies you left behind, but even with the right equipment, it’ll take days to tear that portal down.”

“Then let’s get this done,” Herobrine asserted. He rose again, taking a deep breath when his joints protested fiercely.

Steve stood next to him. “Why don’t you stay here and rest for a while? You’re gonna need a lot more bed time before you’re up and about again, even with the potion I fed you.”

“I’m not helpless,” Herobrine grunted, taking a step and almost falling.

“I never said that. It’s only common sense to take time to recover.” Steve put his hand on Herobrine’s shoulder, feeling the other twitch violently at the contact. “If I meant to hurt you, I wouldn’t have fed you my supper. Lie back and relax for a day or two, you’ll feel much better tomorrow.”

He pressed the ex-deity gently back onto the heated slab, and quickly poured out another cup of tea. “Here, this will help you to sleep. I’ll be back before you wake.”

Steve watched Herobrine reluctantly drink the tea. He left shortly afterwards. _What am I doing, picking up such a lunatic stray?! He’s a god; there’s no other explanation for the glowing eyes. Well, he used to be high-and-mighty, but now he’s only another schmuck trying to make ends meet, and doing a lousy job of it. I guess I feel sorry for him._

_ Wait, that makes no sense; he slaughtered seven people in one attack! He doesn’t need anyone’s pity. If anything, the guy needs a keeper; he’s got almost no idea of how to take care of himself. _

“I don’t need to be responsible for anyone else,” Steve grumbled. “I can scarcely stay out of trouble myself.” His stomach lurched unhappily at the thought of abandoning the ex-deity. “He’ll never make it. He’s functionally blind; even a month’s worth of supplies won’t be enough.”

A sudden thought brought Steve to a complete halt. “Did he fight those seven while wearing that blindfold? He had it on when we first met…” Steve inhaled sharply. “I’ve already seen his temper, those seven corpses are pretty clear evidence of a hair trigger. So, the first thug or holier-than-thou prick who mocked his disability would set him off, and he’d carve a path of destruction across the land. It’d take an army to stop him!”

The miner felt his shoulders slump. “I can’t do it. I can’t just abandon him to fate, the guilt would kill me. I need to somehow civilize him? Tame him? No, I have to mentor him, to prove mortals are worth keeping around. Steve, you’re a fool; how are you going to protect the world from a god?”

He reached the top of the caves, from which the ravine could be seen. Once he knew the vicinity was clear, he traversed the goats-path up to the top of the chasm.

Entering the woods, Steve began checking his snare lines. _Usually, I can catch a rabbit every day or so. With Herobrine around, my need for food’s doubled; I’ll need more snare lines._

_ Maybe I can trade with the Reverend for a bow and some arrows? No, I’d need training to be able to use it. And arrows take a lot of skill to craft. _ The miner kept walking along the snare lines, searching in vain for any captured prey.

_ Maybe fishing? Well, it’s a possibility. And fishing rods are relatively cheap. That’ll be my next purchase, though I’ll wager the Reverend wants more gold for the tool. He’s a greedy pig, but he’s the only one who’ll lower himself to trade with me. _

By late afternoon, Steve finished checking all the snares, coming up empty-handed. Foraging produced some edibles—a handful of mushrooms, lemongrass, bunches of grass seeds, wild garlic, and some wild carrots. Bundled in his shirt, the miner carried the foliage back to the cave, and proceeded to make a soup in his lone pot. “At least it’s food.”

He dished some of the soup out into a bowl for his second meal of the day, grimacing at the taste. Finishing his portion, Steve settled down on the bed, noting how Herobrine stayed asleep the entire time. The miner sighed and closed his eyes. _I’m almost afraid to see what tomorrow brings._


	13. Retreat From the Overworld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herobrine realizes some uncomfortable facts about the Overworld

Herobrine woke between one breath and another. Maintaining a smooth and even breathing tempo, he used all his senses to determine the surroundings.

Burnt coal tainted the air. A fire crackled somewhere nearby. A very faint light flickered through his head wrap in time to the fire’s voice. The sound of someone breathing close startled him until he recalled yesterday’s events. _A mortal—Steve—he rescued me. Brought me into his home and gave me supper. Or is this place a domicile? No, this is a bolt-hole, a temporary home._

Herobrine sat up, removing the blindfold. For a few moments he scrunched his eyes against the encroaching light, until they adjusted. He scanned the cave, noting the few rugs, the even fewer implements.

Standing, he noted the lack of pain with pleasure. _So, liquid ghast tears are a great aid in healing. Good._

He approached the fireplace and sniffed at the bubbling contents of the pot. A sneer of disgust crossed his face; then he shrugged. _It’s got to be better than zombie pigman flesh. Or netherwart._

Stirring the soup with his finger, he noted the lack of meat. _Steve gave me the edible portion of his supper. I should replace it, at the very least._

Scooping up his weapons, he left the cave, and turned towards the surface. The air only sighed ever-so-slightly. His eyeshine slid over the slanted gray cavern walls, half-obscured by limestone boulders, providing a clear picture of the upward-leading fissure.

The cave wound randomly, and he followed its meandering path. A number of footprints marred the grit on the floor, which crunched beneath his feet with every step. The air moved vaguely for a time, eventually coalescing into a whisper of a wind, one that caressed him with an icy touch. Herobrine grit his teeth and pushed on, shaking all over. The chill increased with each step; soon he visibly trembled. _I’m so cold, why isn’t my breath misting in this frigid air?_

The breeze began moaning softly throughout the cavern, bringing the ex-deity to a complete halt. For long moments he stood perfectly still, using his every sense. _It’s something coming to attack? No, no, nothing near, there’s no danger, it’s merely an odd. Sound. Just listen for a while, get used to the feel of this area._

Herobrine stepped forward carefully once he determined no threat existed. Tension still pulsed through his veins, keeping him twitchingly alert. The grit below his soles thickened, becoming a gravelly composite that messed with his balance. The noise of the pebbles grinding together made his hair stand on edge.

After a few more moments of uncertain progress, Herobrine froze in place again. _It’s too loud, too chaotic! Wind and gravel, how are they making so much noise!_ He glared around the cavern, his eye shine striking the walls as he dared something to make itself known, to try to attack. His grip on the spear shaft tightened until his fingers turned white.

_Nothing near… nobody near… how can it be so loud with no danger!_

With great effort for Herobrine managed a step backwards; he fought the urge to attack—something. His whole body trembled with the need to strike back; instead, he retreated further back into the cave, away from the cacophony.

As the wind eased, and the grit diminished to a thin film across the floor, Herobrine’s muscles relaxed from the fight-or-flight tension. Fatigue gradually replaced the tightly-wound anxiety, as the myriad noises faded away. The ex-deity’s strength drained away with each step, until he felt the need to rest for a few moments. Herobrine propped himself against a cavern wall, using his staff for additional support. He breathed deeply, striving to slow his racing heart.

The light from a small lantern alerted Herobrine to Steve’s presence; the mortal strode grimly up the cavern slope, armed with sword, pickaxe, and a length of rope. Confusion filled the mortal’s eyes for a moment once he spotted the ex-deity, and he paused in his forward motion; then he turned toward Herobrine by the cavern wall, standing before the other.

“What happened? I woke up and you were nowhere. Is something the matter?”

Herobrine leaned his head back. “Nothing’s wrong. I realized you gave me your daily ration of meat, and I planned to reimburse your kindness.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t near the cave’s mouth. It was too loud, too chaotic; anything could get near and attack underneath the discord. I—I was overwhelmed. I had to turn back.” He turned to look at Steve. “I’m sorry.”

The mortal shrugged, and patted Herobrine’s shoulder. In a flicker of motion, Herobrine brought up his spear, snapped the point at Steve’s throat, then forcibly dropped the weapon and backed away to the other wall. “Don’t,” he gasped, “don’t.”

Steve froze in place, fear dancing in his eyes. “What’d I do wrong?”

“Don’t touch me,” Herobrine snapped. “Just don’t.”

“All right.” Steve sidled along the cavern wall until he stood more than two spear-lengths away from Herobrine. “I’ll stay ahead of you, where you can watch me and assure yourself that I’m not a threat, okay? And I’ll talk to you, to remind you I’m not planning to hurt you.”

“I handle silence easier than noise.”

“So I’ve noticed. I’ll keep quiet, then.”

The mortal eased away from the side of the cavern and began the return trip to the depths of the chasm. Herobrine followed slowly, holding his spear with one hand, habitually swinging it from side-to-side and tapping it against the floor. The tension slowly eased as he distanced himself from the Overworld’s surface. He staggered wearily behind the other.

Upon reaching Steve’s cave, Herobrine dropped his weapons and settled down on the lava-heated slab. He heaved a sigh of relief. Steve approached carefully, handing him a bowl of water; Herobrine gratefully guzzled the drink.

“Can you explain what happened out there?” the mortal asked, staying out of arms reach.

Herobrine sighed. “I’ve no idea why I couldn’t—handle—everything. The wind. The noise. I, I felt like I was being stalked. Even though I detected no one, nothing, near. I don’t understand.”

Steve shook his head. “Let’s… why don’t you stay here, and let me handle the, uh, the outside. I can collect more food, don’t worry about that part.”

Herobrine’s few seconds of silence reflected his discomfort with the idea. “Surely I can provide something in recompense. I can’t sit here and do nothing. It’s wrong to assume your efforts are my due. There must be some way I can pay you back.”

Steve nodded and began re-heating the tea kettle. “Something will come up, I’m sure. I’ll go check out our options after you take some more tea—I mean medicine.”

Herobrine nodded distractedly, looking inward, trying to imagine what he’d do for Steve. He drank the liquid without comment, then lay back on the heated stone slab. He heard Steve remove certain implements from his person, and set them next to the fireplace, before he left the room.

***

The ex-deity rested on the slab until he felt the tension in his limbs dissipated completely. Then he sat up, retrieving his weapons from their location next to the fireplace. He stared in the direction of the fireplace for long minutes, deep in thought.

_The stench of burning coal is driving me to distraction. Very well, I can’t venture out to the Overworld, but I can improve his living conditions. And the first thing is to replace that inefficient fireplace with something vastly superior._

He scooted the bottom of his spear along the floor until it collided with the bucket of water next to the fireplace. Picking it up, he dumped it on the crackling fire. A cloud of hissing steam rose toward the ceiling, and the light disappeared.

Herobrine scooped up the pickaxe. He eyed the uneven ground distastefully. _Let’s hope I can level this out without too much trouble. Pity there’s no chalk around, it’ make this effort easier._ Raising the pickaxe, he struck the first lumpy protuberance at his feet, knocking it free. From there he worked his way outward, a path spiraling away from the flat center. Sometimes he used the pickaxe between his legs, scraping a small bit of rock away; sometimes he drove the iron blade directly into a lump of mineral rising above the desired level. In places, he used his blaze rod sword to cut away miniscule aberrations in elevation. Sweat dripped down his forehead and neck, soaked his back. His muscles ached from the exertion. But he persevered until the room’s floor appeared respectfully flat and even.

Herobrine sat heavily on the slab serving as his bed, examining his work while he caught his breath and the sweat dried. _Yes, this will suffice._

Next, he dug a small but deep trough where the fire used to reside. _I’ll need to find a slate slab to cover this opening, and keep the mortal from stepping into the magma._

After completing the pit, Herobrine examined the pickaxe in his hand. Clearly, the tool wouldn’t be of use for much longer. Shaking his head at the fragility of these materials, he picked up his spear and sword, then snagged his backpack from its spot in an obscure corner. Finally, he snatched the bucket from where it sat. _Next stop, a lava pit._

Herobrine felt no qualms about leaving the room a second time; he’d no intention of attempting to return to the surface. He turned downward, following the cave into the belly of the earth. His eyeshine slid across basalt boulders, veins of granite, and indeterminate piles of grit. He listened to the times the earth spoke to itself, in deep bass groans and barely-heard rumbles.

A vein of iron caught his eye. He examined the pickaxe in his hand, then used it to rip the ore from the rock wall. Securing those chunks of mineral into his backpack, he continued to explore.

Eventually he picked up on the sound he’d been searching for: the gloopy sound of lava moving against itself. He got close enough to feel the heat before he put his blindfold back on. He promptly turned away from the pool of molten rock and removed his head wrap. _This won’t work, I need to see what I’m doing! All right, break it down. Step one, block off the view of the lava pool, except for a single opening._

He headed over to the nearest wall, planning to break it apart for the rubble he’d use to block off the lava pool; a thick splurping noise from the ground near the wall brought a smile to his face. _Ah, the lava extends this far from the visible portion of the pool! This will make things much easier._

Breaking part of the wall produced a hole through which Herobrine spotted the glow of lava below him. _Excellent._ He widened the hole until the bucket fit easily through the opening. From the backpack he produced along strip of ghast hide, which he tied to the bucket handle.

He spread a large square flap of ghast hide on the floor next to the opening. Then, taking a deep breath, he held the ghast-hide rope on the bucket handle and lowered it into the lava. As soon as the bucket filled, he yanked it up from the opening, dropped it onto the ghast hide, and tied the ends of the hide together to create a crude pouch.

Carefully carrying his burden back to the room, Herobrine gratefully dumped the molten rock into the pit he’d dug earlier. _The bucket isn’t made of a high-quality iron, so the lava will probably melt it. But I’ve found enough ore to replace the bucket and the pickaxe. This isn’t a win, it’s a break-even. But it’s a start._


	14. Home Improvements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to accommodate another person. And Herobrine is still a creator, he still has that drive.

Steve wove among oak trees so tall and thick they blocked out the sunlight. Virtually nothing grew on the ground, only a few yellow stalks of stubborn sedge. His lantern shuttered so it only illuminated what lay before him, mostly dead tree limbs and rotting leaves.

_Yeah, you picked a grand place to live, you old coot. Nobody with a lick of sense would come within a mile of your place. At least it makes you hungry for luxuries._

The sun hung in the late afternoon position before he spotted a bit of light in the gloom. He eagerly pressed forward, breaking out from under the dark trees into the slanted sunshine. “Thank Notch,” he breathed.

Three fenced-in pastures stood between him and the stone hovel of the hermit he sought. The rotting fence posts protected ground long trampled into a yellow-brown clay. Only a few thin weeds existed in the enclosures—a patch of burdock, some thistles, a handful of thorn bushes. Five sheep chewed on the little edible grass they found in two of the pastures.

The final pen held a score of chickens pecking at the ground half-heartedly; rusty chicken-wire covered their pen, protection from the woodland foxes.

Steve vaulted the fence around the sheep and strode toward the stone home. He crossed the weedy, unkempt yard and knocked on the weathered oak door.

For long moments silence reigned. Finally, a thin voice sounded through the door. “Go away! I’ve naught worth stealing!”

“C’mon, Timmus! It’s me, Steve!”

The door opened swiftly, exposing a bald man in a brown shirt and pants, gripping a cudgel. “Steve? What the Nether are you doing here so late! Get inside, it’s dark!”

Steve gratefully squeezed past the villager into the well-lit room, stopping next to the fireplace as the villager fastened all the locks on the door. They both breathed a sigh of relief once he secured the door.

“Again, why’re you here?” the old man hobbled over to his padded chair and sank into its depths with a sigh of relief.

“I need a trade,” Steve admitted, “and I didn’t figure it out until earlier this afternoon.”

The villager leaned back with a calculating eye. “Must be a powerful need to bring you back here so quick.”

“I spotted some hunters cruising around my place—enough to pose a problem,” Steve presented his lie.

The old man shook his head. “What did you do to make them want your hide so bad?”

Steve shook his head. “Uh-uh, Timmus. I don’t ask why you’re in exile here, you don’t get to ask me.”

“All right, all right—can’t blame a man for being curious, is all,” the villager grumbled. “What is it you want, then?”

“I want a fishing rod, half-a-dozen fishhooks, and fifty yards of linen string,” Steve promptly replied.

“Oohh, so many hunters kept you from reaching your traps, eh?” Timmus cackled. “I can see why you’d want another source of meat—even if it is fish.” He leaned forward. “What you got to trade? Fishhooks are the devil to make, it’s going to be expensive.”

 _It always is, you money-grubbing miser._ Steve drew his iron sword, one of those he’d acquired from the corpses around the portal. “This.” He passed the weapon over to the hermit.

Timmus grabbed it eagerly. He ran his hands down the blade, fingered the dents in the edge, examined the pommel with a critical eye. “It’s not new, there’s rust between the blade and the pommel. It’s been used a few times, too, the blade’s dull and pretty dinged up.”

Steve sighed. He pulled an apple from his backpack. Then, taking the sword back, he threw the apple into the air and hacked it cleanly in half with the weapon, and tossed both apple halves to the villager.

“Even I can tell this isn’t a dull blade,” he scoffed.

“Don’t get snitty, I can’t help it if my eyes aren’t so good anymore.”

 _You fingered the edge, you knew it was sharp._ Steve kept his thoughts to himself as he wiped the blade clean on the hem of his shirt. “I also want to sleep here tonight—in your house—close to the fire.”

“So you can rob me and murder me?” The hermit’s eyes widened, and he clutched the chair arms tightly—but his voice didn’t convey fear, and his mouth still smirked.

“Get over it, Timmus—if I’d wanted to kill you, I would’ve done so when you gypped me out of that handful of gold nuggets four months ago. This sword’s worth a lot more than what I’m asking, we both know it.” _Not that I have any urge to kill anyone, but you’d never believe me if I said so._

“All right, all right,” the villager crabbed. “Here’s the deal—this sword for a good quality fishing rod, six unused fishhooks, and fifty yards of linen string. Plus you get to sleep here—by the fire—tonight.”

“Agreed.”

Timmus stuck his hand out. “Then it’s a deal.”

Steve shook on the arrangement, and set his backpack down in front of the fireplace.

The hermit groaned to his feet and hobbled over to a locked chest. He rifled through its contents, eventually pulling out the items Steve requested. The fishing rod and other items got on the floor next to the miner. “Here you go,” he grumbled. “Now I’ll not be feeding you any breakfast, find your own meal.”

“Fine.” Steve unwound the string, using his arms to measure its length. Satisfied he wasn’t being cheated again, he rewound the string and settled down for the night, using his cloak as a blanket.

***

The next day, Steve didn’t quit the hermit’s home until the sun hung clearly above the ominous oak forest. Then he lit the lantern, pulled a long dagger from his backpack, and hastened through the woods.

Patches of sweat soaked his back by the time he reached the open air of the plains. Steve extinguished the lantern and scrutinized the area before him. _Gotta make sure nobody catches me out in the open. No tracks, no broken brush, and most of all, no eyes on me._ He used the brush, the small stands of beech and cottonwood, the clumps of limestone littering the plains to hide his progress.

Steve made his way, slowly and carefully, over to a large pond. There he crawled beneath a bush that hung partially over the turgid green waters. Digging up a handful of grubs from the rotting leaves, he commenced fishing.

After several hours he completed the task, vastly satisfied with the dozen fish he’d pulled from the waters: catfish, white crappie, and carp. “You guys are gonna taste so good,” he chortled.

He cut a silent path back to the ravine through which he entered the cave system he called home. He clutched the granite wall as he inched down the ledges to the chasm’s floor. Then he lit the lantern before entering the cavern itself.

He hustled through the caves until he reached the niche he’d claimed for his own. Gratefully entering the cave, he stopped, astounded.

Somehow, the room had expanded. Several lanterns hung from strategic positions on the ceiling, providing a surfeit of light. The floor was level. A fire no longer flickered in the firepit; instead, lava bubbled beneath a fairly thin slab of stone. The stink of burned coal no longer clogged the air.

Steve lingered in the entranceway with his mouth hanging open. The white-eyed god popped up from behind the table, where he’d been wrestling with the bedframe. “Ah, back again, I see. What’s in your hand, fish? An excellent source of protein alone, but it’s better in a chowder. That will be for later, after I make additional bowls.” He approached the other and appropriated the catch.

The table-sized rock somehow acquired a flat surface while Steve roved beneath the open skies. Herobrine slapped the fish down, pulled a white dagger from his belt, and proceeded to fillet and de-bone the fish. These he lay out atop the rock capping the pit of lava; shortly thereafter, the fillets sizzled nicely, filling the room with the smell of cooking.

Steve found his stomach growling, and followed his nose to the table.

Herobrine scraped the fish off the hot rock by the skin, and dropped half before Steve; his half he placed before his own seat. The pair demolished the meal.

Afterward, Steve’s eyes roamed about the vastly improved bolt-hole. “You did all of this,” he wondered aloud.

“Of course,” Herobrine sounded smug. “The chests are in their own niche, the beds will slide into the wall once I’m finished. The lava provides both heat and a cooking surface. I’m trying to hide any creature comforts, so your use of this cavern as a bolt-hole is never noticed.”

“But how? How could you do so much in a single day?”

“You left your pickaxe and a bucket behind,” the ex-deity shrugged. “That’s all I needed. I excavated out all the required iron. I also lucked out and found a pool of lava; it made smelting the iron easy.”

“I can tell you found lava, it’s baking hot in here.” Steve wiped the sweat from his forearms to emphasize the point.

Herobrine raised his eyebrow. “I’m COLD. This is barely tolerable.”

Steve eyed the other, noting the goosebumps across his arms and shoulders. “I can’t imagine being cold in this heat.” He placed his purchases on the table. “Anyway, we now own a fishing rod and six additional fishhooks, so we’re set on food. And this string—”

“Yes!” Herobrine snatched the roll of linen string; his eyes glowed even brighter. He brought his backpack over to the table, and pulled blood-red swaths of suede from its depths. From his boot he extracted a single golden needle.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked as he watched the other cut a length of string, then tease it apart into several thin threads.

“I’m making a shirt,” Herobrine replied, threading the needle. “I couldn’t make one earlier because I lacked thread.”

“What about your pants? Your boots? It looks like you managed to sew those together.”

“But not enough for anything else. I found the string I used in a fortress, and it’s a fortunate find; otherwise, I’d be wearing nothing more than a loincloth. And those are notoriously cold.” Herobrine began stitching the suede together.

“You must’ve really hated the Nether,” Steve observed. “Too few resources to do much of anything.”

Herobrine stopped sewing, looking at Steve; the mortal saw the fire in his gaze. “I did. And I plan to pay my brother back.”


	15. Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notch realizes how much He misses His little brother.

Notch wandered restlessly about His temple, scanning the pink-flowered mimosa and white-seeded cottonwood trees, the grass-covered land, and the marble pathways, seeking—something. Something missing. His hands itched with need. He stopped in the middle of the path and knelt, fingering the smooth surface. _Perhaps I’m considering a way to harden calcite? No, no, we did that several ages ago, it’s how marble is produced. What else could it be? Maybe… if the process to change calcite was applied to wood… what would the result be? Form some interesting rocks? Crumble like old cheese? There’s something to this idea, I need to speak with Herobrine to flesh it out—oh. I can’t. He’s gone._

Notch sadly remained on the pathway, ignoring anyone who came near, still tapping the marble.

 _I miss him,_ He finally admitted. _I miss his wit, his ever-so-tacky jokes. I miss the look on his face when he’d get excited about an idea, how he’d grasp it like a gorgon’s knot and take it apart like an orange, bringing all its beauty to the surface. I haven’t heard either his laugh or voice, in ages. Not even to curse Me out._

 _I wonder how he fares? After all this time, I’ve no doubt he’s dead._ The idea of Herobrine dying—or already dead—gave Him heart palpitations. _But surely his spirit is somewhere here in the Aether._

Notch stood, eyeing the nearby gods who watched Him uneasily. _What would they do, if they spotted his ghost? Try to banish it to the Nether again? None have either the skill or the power—! They lack any ability to affect spirits,_ _that talent rests solely in My hands._ This assurance did nothing to ease the anxiety suddenly churning in Notch’s stomach; He hurried toward the vision pool.

Notch arrived at the vision pool to find a large group of gods splashing about in the pool, laughing and dunking one another in their games. A dozen other gods lounged about in the shade of the closest cottonwood trees, picnicking on ambrosia and hot loaves of bread and white cheese, while they laughed at the antics of the ones in the water.

One god urinated into the pool, and Notch’s ire exploded. “What are you fools doing!” He bellowed. Lightning and thunder accompanied his roar; an icy wind raced through the Aether.

The gods froze in place for a second, then scrambled out of the pool, collecting with the picnickers in a clump of fright. Notch rammed into their midst, grabbing the clique’s leader by the hair and yanking him away from the rest. “This is the Vision Pool, not a mud puddle!” He shouted, shaking the other. “It is sacred! You and your lackeys had no right to touch it, Thief!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Trickin bleated, teary-eyed from pain. “I didn’t know!”

Lightning crashed down so close Notch could reach out and touch it. “Liar! I warned all of you to treat this pool as special! It’s not a toy! It’s not for any of you!”

He threw the god away from the body of water. Turning back to the pool, Notch’s face darkened, spotting the litter floating in the water—chicken bones, pieces of sandwich, used napkins. Broken glass from wine goblets rested in the sand on the bottom. He turned back to the crowd; His voice assumed a resonance which echoed through the entire Aether. “You’ve defiled this sacred place.”

Notch swept His arm out, and a tornado sprang into being, sweeping the deities together and lifting them into the air. “You’ve already failed in your duties as gods. You savaged and defiled a sacred site. You don’t deserve to be gods!” He thundered. “I revoke your powers! I cancel your godhood! Return to Me your immortality!”

The tornado spun, faster and faster, trapping the screams of its victims in their throats. Lightning struck each of them, and their faces contorted in agony.

Notch held His hammer up; the lightning caressed it for a long moment. He turned the weapon to the reprobates. “From this day forward, you are banished from the Aether!”

A crack of thunder seemed to tear the Aether apart; the tornado and its captives vanished. Sunlight peeked through the clouds timidly before resuming its glowing presence above the heavenly realm; birds cautiously resumed their singing.

Notch stalked back to the throne room, dropping onto the throne’s cushions and reaching to the side, where a black urn rested. This He placed on the floor between his feet. He removed its seal, and tapped the opening with His hammer. Light coalesced along the sides of the hammer, like tears of honey, and dripped into the opening. “Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight… thirty-nine… forty.” _Forty fewer headaches._

He tapped the urn until no further light glinted on the hammerhead. Then He re-sealed the vase, and replaced it.

He stood in the empty room for a long while, wrangling His temper back into its usual confines. Once His thoughts no longer steamed, He settled back into the throne’s cushions, calling, “Baothellian.”

His Aetherian steward hurried to stand before Him. “Yes, Lord?”

“The Vision pool’s been desecrated,” the creator informed the servant, rubbing at His forehead. “Clean it out, and prepare the ritual to re-establish the oracular site.”

The steward bowed, “At once, Lord.”

“Also, clean out all the quarters for Trickin and his minions. They’re no longer of the Aether.”

“Yes, Lord.” Baothellian turned and left swiftly.

Notch remained in the throne room for a time, staring morosely at the black urn beside His throne. “I was angry then as well, Herobrine—yet I never felt the need to kill them. We both know your temper’s always been a problem; why’d you let it overpower you?” He leaned back, feeling misery welling throughout. “I wish I could speak with you.”

Parvi entered on near-soundless feet and prostrated herself in a flutter of silk and gauze. Notch felt even older as He watched her. _I wonder how many times she practiced that maneuver to make it appear so natural?_

“My Lord,” she spoke up, “I heard of the terrible occurrences of today. How may I ease Your distress?”

“I doubt you’ve the capacity,” the creator grumbled into His hand.

“Have we truly lost the ability to see the future, and regard the past?” Notch spotted how she trembled at the thought.

“If I can re-consecrate the pool, I might be able to re-establish its oracular properties,” He noted, before His head dropped down. “But that was one of Herobrine’s specialties; I don’t know if I can duplicate it.”

The look on Parvi’s face would make a stone statue weep. “I am so, so sorry! This is a terrible blow to the Aether! We are fortunate indeed that You created realms so perfectly aligned no enemy to Your reign has ever sprung up.”

She rose and glided up to the side of the throne, carefully placing her delicate hand on the creator’s arm. “Perhaps this loss is not as terrible as it might be. After all, we’ve never really needed to use the vision pool. You know, Serena completed a new dance routine recently, You might wish to view it? It should take your mind off Your problems.”

Notch waved it off. “No thank you. Instead, summon Thelmet to the throne.”

Parvi’s eyes widened in worried confusion. “Thelmet? Why him, of all people?”

“You couldn’t hope to understand,” Notch replied. “Please go fetch him.”

“Yes… Lord. Of course, I shall find… Thelmet?” She backed out of the temple, bowing repeatedly; Notch smiled at the stunned look on her face.

In a few moments, the god of knowledge padded into the temple. He paused at the foot of the throne, bowing deeply. “Lord, how may I be of service?”

“What do you know of calcite?” Notch asked.

“Calcite?”

“It’s a rock, a fairly fragile white mineral. If it’s subjected to adequate heating and pressure, it converts to marble. Mind you, it takes several hundred million years to complete the process.”

“Uh… if You say so, lord.”

“What do you expect to happen if similar forces were applied to wood? Take spruce as an example.”

“Uh…” Thelmet’s eyes flashed around the room, trying to determine what he could say. Notch watched the god of knowledge thrash. “I… guess… any wood that didn’t rot away would… be crushed by the surrounding stone, until only a wooden mush remained. It’d then escape via any cracks in the surrounding rock, eventually disappearing entirely from its original spot.”

The creator asked, “Is there any way to maintain the integrity of the wood during this process?”

Thelmet hemmed and hawed for several moments, finally shaking his head and admitting, “Lord, I’ve no idea.”

Notch sighed yet again. “Thank you for your efforts on this query,” and He waved the other off. The god of knowledge hared out of the temple; Notch rose from the throne, and exited to His quarters. He stood on the balcony for long hours, until the sun left the sky and the stars filled the firmament. _I remember when we made these stars, so many ages ago. He thought up a way to make them different colors…_

Midnight passed by before He re-entered His room. His eyes fell on a bowl nestled into one corner of the room, alabaster and gold that glowed slightly, filled with an amazingly clear liquid.

A smile slowly creased His face.

He strode over to the bowl while encasing it with a protective sphere. _I’d completely forgotten, both Myself and Herobrine kept additional sites for holding oracular visions in our rooms, because the ability’s so vulnerable. This protection will keep the pool safe from the young gods, and permit Me to take in the visions at My leisure._ Leaning close, He whispered, “Show me Herobrine.”

_I wonder where his spirit hides? I’m certain he’d find a secure niche, where the young gods couldn’t find him, but I can’t imagine where it would be._

A thin fog covered the water for a few moments. When it cleared away, a scene flickered across the surface. In a carved-out limestone cave, a sweaty, bare-chested Herobrine reached into a fiery furnace with a long white pole.

Out of the inferno, he pulled a bucket of molten iron, then carefully made his way over to a table and somehow tipped the molten iron into a mold on the tabletop.

Notch leaned back on His heels, smiling broadly. “You devious so-and-so,” He chortled. “Still alive, and free of the Nether! What are you making there? It’s the head of a pickaxe. Are you planning to go mining? Ah, it’s good to see you doing so well.”

An excess of happiness flowed through the creator as He observed his brother. His heart felt lighter than it had in years. He materialized a chair and sat down, watching as Herobrine poured the iron remnants into a second, far smaller, mold. “Ah, a dagger blade as well. Nice way to use up the excess. I’m glad you’re still creating, even in this small way.”

He watched as his brother carved a pickaxe handle and lay it next to the mold, then selected a chunk of oak and carved a hand-sized bowl. He filled it with sand and gravel, and proceeded to smooth the surface. As a final touch, a key pattern was carefully inscribed into the lip of the bowl.

Notch frowned as He watched his brother sigh and stretch tiredly. _He’s mortal, with no reserves of strength worth mentioning. Every little thing they do drains their energies._ Notch stood and wiped the vision away, then headed back to the throne room. Reaching into the black urn, He retrieved the immortality Herobrine once owned. Hiding it in His hand, He sealed the urn, returning to His quarters and the bowl of visions.

“Show me Herobrine,” He whispered across the waters.

This time the pool showed Herobrine sleeping beneath a white hide, as well as a red wool blanket. Even as He watched, the sleeper shivered. _Could you be fevered? Well, I don’t plan to lose you to sickness or these ill-mannered children._ Notch held the glowing sphere of immortality above Herobrine’s image and released it, pushing it down into the Overworld until it hovered scant inches above His brother. From there it rushed down into the ex-deity’s form, suffusing him with a soft glow.

After a few moments, the glow dissipated.

Notch leaned back, more content than He’d been in ages. _After all, I never meant for this punishment to be eternal. It was a mistake on My part to ever assume it would be. Let’s see how much control you hold over your temper now, brother. And I shall see if any of these foolish children are worth salvaging._

***

On quick feet, Parvi raced down the stairs of the temple and out to the gardens. She found her clique awaiting her in the Beech amphitheater, so named because of the trees surrounding its lip. Brushing her hair back into place, and reassuming her look of serenity, she walked into the center of the stage. “Friends, I must inform you that the Pool of Visions has been desecrated this day. What’s worse, our dear creator doubts He can restore it.”

Murmurs of approval rose from the seats.

“I believe we should now strongly encourage Thelmet and his lapdogs to join our ranks; after all, Tychmer yearns for their knowledge, and he will stop at nothing to acquire the means to wage war on an ever-grander scale.” Her companions nodded seriously, though some kept their heads down to hide the smirk on their lips.

“Johanan, it’s time for the bards to assume their enhanced duties, and set up a spy network across the Overworld. I want to know every time a member in a royal family sneezes.”

Johanan, a fair-faced young man with curly brown hair and even deeper eyes, nodded his understanding.

“Isatram, I believe this is the perfect time for Norkolden to invade Kethennidal; this will doubtlessly keep Tychmer happy for quite some time, those countries are exceptionally rich.” Parvi smiled as she gave her orders.

Isatam wore the ceremonial garb for Kethennidal cavalry: a double-breasted, navy-blue coat with a high collar, black trousers with a red stripe down the sides, knee-high black boots that gleamed in the sunlight, and a navy-blue hat of stiffened felt. His rapier hung off his hip, in a sheath gleaming with inset sapphires. He stroked his moustache and smiled, bowing to his patron.

“Fulterath, our priests in Dropenith may now show the royal Kafolik family there just how important they are, and how they can aid the royals in keeping their realm secure.” Parvi smiled at her followers, pleased beyond words that she could finally enact her own plans.


	16. Heading Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herobrine tries to return to the Nether, for his supplies. But the Portal is out in the open…

Herobrine leaned back against the stone table, fiddling with his spear. The light from a single torch filled the room with a brilliance that forced him to squint; it required a major effort of will to keep from using the headwrap or dousing the torch. Instead, the spear handle received his tension; he twisted it with both hands as if this behavior would extinguish the light.

Steve approached, stopping just beyond Herobrine’s reach. “Y’know, that thing’s not your enemy,” he commented, pointing at the spear shaft. “You sure you want to do this today? It’s been barely a day since you successfully put up with a single torch being lit in your presence.”

“Yes,” the ex-deity snapped. “The sooner I get acclimated to the Overworld conditions, the better off we’ll be.”

“All right, you know your limitations, I guess.” Steve gestured at the cave opening. “After you.”

The ex-deity gave his spear shaft one more turn; the weapon groaned and split. Shocked, Herobrine dropped it. When he picked it up, its surface held a long deep crack up the length of the haft. Angry at himself, he stalked over and threw the door open, exiting into the pitch-black cave system. Behind the ex-deity, Steve picked up the lantern and followed.

Striding through the caves, Herobrine forced his nervous feet into a steady pace, padding uphill towards the surface. His eyes roved from side-to-side, cataloguing everything struck by eye-shine: the vast limestone boulders leaning against the black-streaked cavern walls or spilling over into the middle of the tunnel. Gravel scattered irregularly across the cavern floor crunched beneath him. Odd pits occasionally appeared in the walls, the edges of which bore scar marks left behind when he’d mined the iron ore or coal resting therein. The air remained bone-deep cold, though his red shirt and vest warded the worst of the chill.

After a time Herobrine felt the air moving and he paused, looking around, getting used to the sensations.

“Is everything all right?” Steve asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the ex-deity responded. “This is where the air currents begin to move discernably; I’m waiting for the sensation to become boring.”

“Ah.”

Herobrine leaned against a nearby boulder, keeping a sharp lookout for anything untoward. Long moments of nothingness crawled by. Eventually he straightened, and resumed his trek towards the cave opening.

“You must really want those supplies,” Steve noted.

“I ruined my main weapon,” Herobrine snorted. “It’s now vital I get to my supplies, and my spare weapons. Besides which, there’s gold—surely Timmus will trade for that.”

Steve nodded. “I guarantee he’d be all over the gold. What I don’t know is if you want him to find out you’ve got intimate knowledge of the Nether.”

“What does that matter?’

“He might not be able to go there himself, but it wouldn’t stop him from calling in other people to find out where the goods are stashed. He might even alert bounty hunters to my presence.” Steve suddenly looked far older. “Greed is an ugly thing. It brings out the worst in everyone.”

Herobrine silently regarded Steve for a few moments. “Even gods fall to that darkness,” he eventually agreed. “So, we’ll keep the Nether supplies for ourselves; most of it can stay in the fortress without a problem. The gold can still be smelted down into nuggets; we can use those to purchase thicker blankets.”

“Mix it with enough lesser ores, like iron and redstone, and he won’t be any the wiser,” the miner agreed.

“I must somehow function on the surface,” Herobrine pointed out, once again walking towards the surface.

“True, true.” Steve paused as Herobrine stopped again. “More breezes?”

“I—yes.” Herobrine grit his teeth, casting about, and taking deep breaths.

“I can’t imagine how bad the Nether must be to keep you on edge like this,” Steve noted. “I mean, I know it’s bad—only one in four teams return from any Nether expedition. It’s insane.”

“It was my prison,” Herobrine growled; the glow from his eyes brightened. “My cursed brother created it to hold me for eternity. Then He filled it with monsters—all with the goal of killing me. I needed to be on edge to survive for so long.” Once again, he trudged up the deep tunnel. Steve hustled to keep up.

“Your brother is an ass,” he agreed.

“He’s far worse,” Herobrine growled.

“I’ve always wondered what it’s like to have a sibling—brother, sister, whatever. I mean, I’m an only child. My parents died years ago. I can’t help but think that having someone you can relate to, you can talk to, must be comforting.”

Herobrine stopped suddenly and turned to face Steve. “Before He chose those backstabbing toadies over me, yes.” The ex-deity turned away, fighting to keep his voice even, though his chest squeezed painfully tight. “Those memories are worthless. He threw them away when He cast me into the Nether. When He ripped away all I was, all I had, and gave it to those snakes.”

“I refuse to be discarded so blithely,” he announced. “He owes me an explanation, as well as a deep apology. I won’t let him get away with this. Damnit!” Herobrine suddenly turned to the nearest wall, trying to dig his hands into the stone, pressing his forehead against the rock.

Steve froze when he saw the other spin and pit himself against the rock. As quietly as possible, he backed up to a boulder further away from the ex-deity, taking a seat on the nearest flag slab of stone, shuttering the lantern completely and waiting in the darkness for Herobrine to regain control.

Herobrine kept pushing against the wall, locking his muscles in place, using the feel of cold stone to remind himself no real threat approached from either end of the cavern. Steve’s breathing, and smelled the burning beeswax candles in the lantern, occupied his attention for a fragment of a second; these weren’t signs of imminent attack. He struggled to steady his breathing, to slow his heart’s frantic pace—no threat approached. He glanced up and down the tunnel, seeking any sign of approaching trouble, finding nothing.

Any sense of stability lay beyond his reach; he couldn’t calm himself, no longer able to repress the shudders at every change in the air pressure.

He forced himself to step back from the wall, away from the piles of stone and grit gathered there. Reluctantly, the ex-deity turned back in the direction of the cave at the bottom of the world, where darkness and silence encompassed everything. Within a handful of steps, his stiff pace increased into a run. He rushed through the caves, ignoring everything beyond the tunnel ahead. It took standing before the stone table in their cave, hands pressed against its flat surface, before he could wrangle his body into obedience. His heart quit jumping about; he began drawing long, slow, deep breaths while willing the tension in his muscles away.

He heard Steve enter the room, pull out of one the chests from the wall niche, and sit as far away from the table as the room allowed.

Herobrine looked up from the tabletop to his companion. “Thank you for helping me with this attempt.” His voice sounded heavy, laden.

Steve waved his hand around. “Exactly what happened?”

“I—it overwhelmed me,” Herobrine admitted unhappily. “The air currents, the smells, the gravel crunching beneath my feet. It felt like something was sneaking up on me. I knew no enemy lurked nearby, but I couldn’t—stop—myself.” He laughed a short, hard bark. “I’m fortunate I didn’t start attacking the walls

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “That’s pretty nuts, y’know.”

Herobrine nodded agreement. “This retreat doesn’t solve our problem. My spear is unusable as it stands. I crafted additional weapons for such a contingency, they reside in a Nether fortress. But the portal lies beyond my reach,” he growled. “Somehow I need to overcome this—this conditioning. To get to the portal, I must be able to tolerate the chaotic surface of the Overworld.

“I don’t think I can face any more today.” He held out his hand, noting the tremors. “Mortal forms are small, and limited. I’ve pushed myself too far.”

“There’s an alternative to you forcing yourself up to the surface,” Steve mentioned.

“What would that be?” the ex-deity asked drily.

“Let’s build a portal down here, underground. We can dig out a room far from this place, block it in so nobody will ever stumble across it, and use it whenever it’s necessary.”

Herobrine paused for a moment, reviewing the solution. “That’s great! Simple and effective.” He paused. “This rift between dimensions ought to be much harder to trace underground; your pursuers might never stumble across it.”

Herobrine stood up, but Steve held his hand out. “I think you’re still too shaky to be fooling around with lava. Let me go fetch supper, while you cool down. We’ll start first thing tomorrow.”

***

Four days later, Herobrine stood in the entrance to the cave he and Steve carved out at the bottom of the world. The tiny cave barely held the two men, though it managed to contain the obsidian doorway. The chunky black edifice dominated the room, spreading an unexpected amount of darkness about. Steve pulled out flint and steel, stepped forward, and lit the bottom of the frame; the gateway activated.

In the meantime, Herobrine secured two pieces of obsidian together; keeping it in hand, he grabbed his backpack and slung it across his back. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

Steve nodded. “Be careful, the Nether’s a dangerous place, even for you.”

“I know.” _I never get to forget that tidbit._ Herobrine breathed deeply, tugged his eye cover in place, and stepped through the shimmery layer leading to the Nether.

He knew when he rematerialized in his prison. Heat washed over him, a welcome change from the eternal frigidity of the Overworld. A deep, seemingly impenetrable darkness surrounded him. The air stank of sulfur and ash.

The ex-deity stood perfectly still, listening intently, hearing nothing more than the portal and the ever-present wind. After several moments, Herobrine pulled the headwrap down and looked about, noting an exposed vein of quartz just above a pitted stone with a flat top.

_ Ah, I’m still in the ravine with the original portal, only two curves beyond its location. _ He confidently strode through the ravine, stopping at the side of the other portal. A number of mummified corpses decorated the canyon’s base, clustered about the groaning portal. Herobrine inspected the cadavers, finding nothing more than a few daggers to be worth scavenging. Tucking them into his belt, he continued.

The fortress ominously hunched over the land. The ex-deity scrutinized everything nearby as he skirted the edge of the lava ocean, finally reaching the deep red brick wall. _No zombie pigmen, no ghasts, not even a slime! They seem to finally understand their place. This fortress is MINE, and they aren’t welcome._

Opening the hidden door at the base of one of the supports, Herobrine slipped in, closed the door, and climbed the ladder up to its terminus, a large unadorned hallway. He strode to the room he’d been using to store his supplies and entered.

The room’s contents remained ordered, organized. Stacks of ghast hides lay to the left, chests filled with zombie pigman flesh stood on the right. Herobrine aimed for the far wall. There, neatly standing in their racks, stood a dozen spears. The ex-deity selected one, testing its balance and weight, spinning it in his hand once or twice. Next, he moved to a black leather chest, and selected two daggers carved from quartz, dropping those into his backpack. _One for myself, and one for Steve; he clearly requires a better knife._

Finally, he returned to the ghast hides, flipping through the dried skins until a suitable candidate for his projects turned up. This he rolled, then attached with cord to the bottom of the backpack. _Half a hide ought to suffice. I want a cloak, we both need more comfortable sleeping pads, and I can use the thickest section to make Steve a shield. Not much will get through this hide!_

Just before leaving the room, he dipped his hand into a golden pot, pulling out roughly a dozen gold nuggets. _A handful should suffice._

Immensely happier with a new, fully functional spear, Herobrine retraced his steps back to the portal where Steve waited.


End file.
